


Dissonance

by AwesomePossum



Series: Guilded Days: A Bard of Ravnica [4]
Category: Magic: The Gathering (Card Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Azorius Senate, Centaurs, Concert, Dimir x selesnya, F/M, Heist, House Dimir, Inter-Guild Conflicts, Inter-Guild romance, Ravnica (Magic: The Gathering), Selesnya Conclave, classical music snobbery, lies and sadness, loveable spies, sadboi, scrying and skullduggery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:01:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 61,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26914798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwesomePossum/pseuds/AwesomePossum
Summary: They've only know each other a few weeks, but Aster is happier falling for Yenna than he has been in a long time. There's just one problem: Aster is a Dimir agent. Now, despite doing everything possible to keep them apart, his personal and professional lives are colliding in dangerous ways...and a lie told to keep from hurting someone you love is a lie nonetheless. When Yenna finds out, will he be able to mitigate the damage?
Relationships: OMC/OFC
Series: Guilded Days: A Bard of Ravnica [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1963186
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2
Collections: Guilded Days: A Bard of Ravnica





	1. I. Bridge

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gamb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gamb/gifts).



> Footnotes:
> 
> Djags -- Cigarettes  
> Cholino -- Term of endearment for a male, referring to a kind of chocolate candy from south Ravnica, roughly: sweetheart  
> Badra -- Partner or teammate  
> Aya avroza -- An extremely unfortunate coincidence in the slang of southern Ravnica. Aya is a local superlative often appended to other words, and avroza specifically means the bad luck that results from bad timing.  
> Household -- Slang, used by members of House Dimir to denote others who are inside or affiliated with the guild.

Aster was glad to see his favorite table was available, the small one under the overhanging plum tree. It was really less a table and more a short stone plinth, the edges worn away to unevenly rounded shapes, and so many names carved into it over the years that it looked like the overlapping scarification of an elderly Gruul anarch--although unlike most Gruul anarchs, this plinth had actually made it into old age. But battered though it was, Aster liked it. It had character. 

He sat down, placing a lemon-butter muffin and a marginally overpriced glass of dark sweet tea in front of him, upending a small tin of honey into the glass. While he stirred the thin coils of honey into the drink, he subtly scanned the crowd. He liked this table for its charm, true, but its positioning also made it highly practical. On one side the table abutted a low wall of stacked stones, worn where generations of Ravnicans had sat on it and dotted with dark, sooty circles of countless djags* being stubbed out on the flat fieldstones. On the other, plum branches hung heavy with fruit the color of the dusk sky, forming a leafy screen, and the squat trunk of the tree angled down behind the table. It had an ideal vantage point looking out over the cafe and the wide promenade beyond the wall, and was shielded from all sides but the front, so anyone seated there could watch everyone in the crowd without having to watch their own back. Perfect for anyone looking to be clandestine.

He took a sip of his tea, enjoying the sugared weight of it and fondly remembering his mother’s porchfront tea, sitting out in a gallon glass jar and steeping for the entire day. He’d never found anywhere that could quite replicate the flavor. It had always tasted like sunshine.

Out of curiosity, he had tried some supposedly choice teas with Yenna, but honestly he didn’t know how she tolerated them--she had taken him to a Selesnyan tea stand during the Sumala Fair and had tried to convince him that the tinctures there were the most flavorful and delicious of teas. But she was wrong. Very wrong. Not only were they not delicious, they weren’t even good. Hells, they weren’t even  _ tea _ . His best guess, based on the thin texture and bitter, razor-sharp taste, was that they were garden clippings that the Selesnyans threw into cauldrons of boiling water and then inflicted on unsuspecting victims. He had a great time taking in the fair with Yenna, but nothing should taste like that unless it was medicinal and prescribed for something debilitating. 

Nursing his own tea--no match for his mother’s, but accented with lemon juice and not half bad--he watched the passersby without seeming to, tracking the comings and goings through the promenade. As usual he had no idea if Feralina would be here or not; this was one of a few set places and times where he would go so she could contact him outside of their standard meetings. There were different locations, different days of the week, alternating rotations, all steps to make meetings seem random when they happened. 

Including that they regularly didn’t. 

Which was fine with Aster; it just meant that on those days he got to drink tea and peoplewatch. He took a sip. Not a bad way to spend an afternoon. 

He surreptitiously eavesdropped on the two women at the table to his left, on the other side of the curtain of plum branches. The screen of leaves and his unassuming demeanor made him effectively invisible even though they were less than ten feet away, and he couldn’t help following their conversation. The human woman with the liberal scatter of freckles over her face and shoulders was talking with animate irritation about her boyfriend being a layabout during the day and staying out all night with his friends. The half-elf with her, water-smooth hair the color of dark ale, was exhorting the first woman to show more self-respect and sending him packing out of the flat. Aster wondered if the first woman suspected that her friend had personal motivations for convincing her to move on--the human seemed not to notice how often her dark-haired companion touched her hand and shoulder, how she sat just a little closer than strict friendship dictated, how she seemed frustrated beyond what was expected on someone else’s behalf. 

He wondered what would happen if the half-elf said something, told the truth. Would the freckled woman be surprised? Upset? Reciprocate? He imagined a version of the scene, playing out the words in his mind as the dark-haired woman told her friend how she felt. In his mind the human woman was startled, but then smiled and took her hand, confessing how happy this made her, how she felt the same. A happy ending. Well, happy for everyone except the deadbeat boyfriend he supposed, but given the narrative of events Aster was inclined to cast him as the bad guy here anyway. Maybe unfair, but you couldn’t have a good story without an obstacle to overcome.

He took another sip of tea, following with peripheral awareness as the human woman talked about how she couldn’t say anything to her boyfriend because she didn’t want to get into a fight yet again. He could almost feel the half-elf choking down her real response as she wheedled her freckled friend to stand up for herself. Probably they would never know what the truth would do, any more than he did in his imagination. His experience was that people tended to sit on their secrets like a dragon on a hoard, even when they wanted to be shared, even when a confession would be beautifully cathartic. The aftermath was always a risk. He knew well enough that secrets were dangerous things, that every time one came out into the open there was a roll of the dice on whether it would be a dud or demolish some crucial life structure. Most people preferred not to excavate anything so potentially volatile.

Truth was an ideal, but stability was a tangible reality.

He sensed someone approaching the table before looking up, and caught the smell of hyacinth wafting through the plum leaves. Around the cafe sidewalk, he could feel people’s attention shifting. It looked like there would be a meeting today after all.

Feralina strutted up in her usual way, projecting confidence as if she owned the world and everything in it. Her hair, oil-glossy and dark, was pulled back tight to the nape of her neck, where it broke free and spilled down her back. Glasses with lenses of transparent, paper-thin amber perched on her broad cheekbones; her full lips were painted a blistering pink that glowed like a magelight on deep bronze skin. Bright buttercup tunic hanging off a single shoulder in layered ruffles, cream-colored linen shawl tied in front at just the right height to frame her breasts, and pale riding pants fastened high up on her waist to create the illusion of long legs despite the fact that she was only a hand over five feet. Shoes built on tall platforms helped add to the impression of height, wrapping her feet in woven braids of leather adorned with gold colored discs that chimed brightly while she walked. Even her finger and toenails were lacquered in white with a golden opaline shimmer. 

She looked perfect enough to make elves envious.

Everyone watched, then tried not to watch, then tried to watch some more while still pretending they weren’t. Feralina’s approach to subterfuge was the opposite of Aster’s. When he worked, he interacted with people in a pleasant but carefully unmemorable way, relying on politely affable mannerisms and pleasant but not handsome looks to move in and out of people’s awareness. Averageness had advantages, and he leaned into it. 

Feralina was a different matter. A con artist who diverted attention with flash and showmanship, she captivated everyone she encountered in ways that made it extremely hard to remember what the details of that encounter were. Oh, they remembered certain things, the husky molten-caramel voice, the blazing flash of her smile, the fluid gyre of her hips when she walked, the delicate placement of her fingers  _ just so _ on their arm, each one tipped in a nail like a brightly colored jewel. But they never remembered any of the details she didn’t want them to. Aster used charisma like a sculptor’s tool, made for subtle unnoticeable strokes. 

Feralina used it like a demolition hammer. 

She smoothly slid into the chair opposite him, her motions as precise and boneless as a cat’s. At the table to his left, Aster saw both the freckled human and the brunette half-elf staring openly before catching him looking back and turning away with flushed cheeks.  _ Well, at least that’s one less obstacle to their relationship,  _ he mused. Although he had seen Feralina pour the charm on hard enough that he wasn’t entirely sure being attracted to women was a prerequisite to being attracted to her, specifically. __

As she sat down, he pushed the plated muffin toward her. She didn’t care for tea--blessed tides, what was wrong with all the women in his life and tea?--but he knew that any kind of citrus baked goods were a favorite of hers. Behind her amber glasses she raised her eyebrows, broad and dark and expressive, and picked the pastry off the plate with deft fingers. Raising it to her face, she gave it a sniff, then flashed him a smile that would melt a lake in midwinter.

“Lemon.” The word was a slow, pleased sigh. “You’re a good boy _ , cholino* _ ,” she said affectionately. “And you spoil me, as usual.” She took a large bite that was somehow delicate, deliberately sensual, and also managed to not smudge the vivid pink color on her lips. It was hard not to be a little impressed. 

When she had become his handler, he’d heard a cascade of rumors from inside the Dimir that she was a summoned fey trapped on Ravnica, or a demon-touched succubus from the depths of a Rakdos carnival, or that she’d had Simic alterations to give her high-potency pheromones. After working with her for four years, he was fairly certain that she was just a human with highly cultivated personal charm and a talent for enchantment spells. About ninety percent certain. But he continued to spread the rumors around out of professional courtesy.

Initially he had been a little starstruck by her magnetic presentation, but as attractive as she was he had never really been attracted  _ to _ her--she was a boisterous, almost aggressive personality, and he was generally drawn to more down-to-earth women. As it turned out, the lack of romantic interest had actually helped their interactions immensely: over time, he had gathered that very few people approached her without any desire for a physical relationship, attracted to features that were emphasized to facilitate her job. She had mentioned that she found his lack of pursuit refreshing. The mention was off-handed, but he read people well enough to know that it meant something to her or she wouldn’t have said anything at all. 

He swirled his drink idly while she chewed, letting it cling to the glass walls in syrupy waves and watching the other cafe patrons slowly turn back to their business, now just casting scattered half-glances their way.  _ Her _ way; he might as well have been her imaginary friend. He suppressed a small sigh--being unnoticed was invaluable for work, but it wore on him sometimes, although that was hardly her fault. Instead, he gave the area a professional once-over to confirm that no one was watching--beyond distracted side-eyes at Feralina--and gave the code phrase to tell her so.

“Quiet night last night?”

She nodded, licking buttery residue from her fingers in a way that caused a man a few seats over to choke and try to cover it with an awkward cough. “Nothing interesting going on, I’m afraid.”

That was their opening exchange, to confirm no one was watching or following or holding anyone under duress. There were different responses to alert each other if any of those things had been the case, and protocols to avoid suspicion depending on which response had been used. In truth it had only happened a handful of times. Usually the plan was just to minimize contact by having Feralina pretend to ask him for a smoke and then walk away, or to meet but talk casually about nothing until potential spies got bored. Twice they had left and gone somewhere else together. Once they had needed to make a run for it and actively shake off a pursuit. And once someone had gotten out ahead of them and taken things very personally, and they’d come down to fighting with both blades and magic--one of the reasons Aster had a cover position with the Boros Ancillary Forces, since claiming someone had attacked an off-duty officer of the Legion tended to resolve things in his favor rather quickly. Fortunately, Sunhome’s desire to protect its own tended to be far stronger than its desire or ability to thoroughly uncover the truth.

Protocols confirmed, Aster leaned forward casually one elbow, partly turning his body away from the rest of the cafe tables to shield his face and words. “How’s it going, Fera?”

She smiled again, not the brilliant flash made for onlookers, but a more subdued and genuine curve of her mouth. “Not too bad,  _ badra*,  _ not too bad. Same old game. How about you love, how’s everything going on your block?”

He shrugged. “Decent.”

“You’ve been playing a lot of gigs, I hear. Letting the music out of those hands?”

He scoffed, smiling. Fera was a firm believer that musicians were the best at picking locks and pockets because they needed the same kind of fine dexterity, and frequently complimented him on having lovely artist’s hands without specifying which art she was referring to. He’d initially taken it as teasing, but after seven years of working with House Dimir and its agents, he’d realized that there was actually some truth to it.

“Heh. Yes Maestra, I’ve been practicing and keeping my fingers sharp and everything,” he joked, drumming a little rhythm along the side of his glass. “Honestly though? Things have actually been going really well since the Sumala Fair; I was pretty well-reviewed there, made some contacts…”  _ One person in particular.  _ He didn’t say it out loud, but thinking about Yenna still kindled a pleasant warmth in his chest. He attempted to cover the feeling with a shrug. “And the inspiration has been coming easy lately.”

She raised an eyebrow, grinning knowingly. “You still making time with that nice fiddler girl from the Conclave?”

“Shamisen,” he corrected automatically, earning him an eye roll. “And…” He felt himself smiling. “Yeah, we’ve been spending more time together lately.”

Fera reached out and patted his hand warmly, without affected elegance. “I’m happy for you baby _.  _ You’re a sweet guy; I’m glad someone’s getting you out of the house.” She shook her head, not unkindly. “You artistic boys are so sensitive, and you get really into your head when you spend too much time by yourself...I worry about you, you know?”

“Always looking out for me, right?” he said, throwing her a half-grin.

She smiled back, this time unleashing the full force of her personality in white teeth and full lips and amber eyes looking up at him through dark lashes. “Of course. A girl has to manage her assets, right?” She polished off the muffin in a final bite, then produced a bright yellow handkerchief and delicately dabbed her mouth. “Besides,” she said, “someone has to. You don’t give yourself enough credit,  _ cholino _ \--I just want to make sure you’re letting yourself have nice things.”

He took a surreptitious drink of his tea to cover up the unmistakable sincerity he heard in the last part. 

Almost in spite of himself, he actually trusted Fera as a person, not just as a competent fellow agent. About a year after she became his handler they had needed to dodge pursuit after a heist, and had ended up going to a flat that Aster had been shocked to find was Fera’s real apartment, rather than a safehouse. It was surprising, given how little many Dimir trusted even their own guildmates--and offered even more surprises when he learned that she was a complete slob when at home, made tasty if slightly-too-spicy fish stew, and was somehow the worst card player he had ever met in his life. That was also when he had learned how little of what made Feralina so  _ much _ was real. In her own place, with her makeup scrubbed off and wearing baggy, wrinkled clothes that just barely smelled like they might be due for a wash, he was surprised to find out how average she looked. She still had a lusty overabundance of personality, but she could have walked down the street without being noticed, exactly like him. Somewhere deep down, he was the tiniest bit jealous that she had the boldness or exceptionality or whatever it was to turn ordinary into the flashbang that she became when she was working, stoking some inner fire that made her stand out. But much more so, it reframed his perceptions to learn that Fera was a regular person, and as far as he could tell, actually a good person at that.

For a con artist and spy, obviously, but he was hardly one to sit in a glass house and throw stones.

After that, he regarded her as something closer to a real friend. He still struggled with doubts on occasion. Life had taught him, harshly, that everyone had their own secrets and agendas that took priority when push came to shove--even though she’d always had his back, something in him couldn’t help but maintain a little bit of distance. But he liked Fera, and he had few enough close friends that he appreciated their relationship.

Even if she didn’t like tea.

“So,” he said, changing the subject. “Anything new for me today?”

She tsked at him. “See, that’s what I mean.” She pulled an exaggerated pout, her brows drawing together in a flawless frown. “Such a serious boy. I hope your girl is helping you lighten up a bit.” He thought about saying  _ She’s not exactly my girl,  _ but immediately decided he wasn’t ready to have the conversation it would inevitably lead to, and opted to just let Feralina continue.

“And yes,” she carried on, “it so happens I do have something for you.” She took out a small tin similar to a jewelry box and popped the lid open, revealing a number of hard candies coated in a glossy shell of clear sugar. She sifted through them a moment, then plucked one from the pile and handed it to him. She took one for herself as well; she had told him that it was to avoid raising suspicion, but he’d always strongly suspected it was because hers were just plain lemon drops and she had an intense sweet tooth.

He took the candy from her and popped it in his mouth. It was peach-flavored, as his always were--he thought that she kept them sorted by giving each of her agents a designated flavor, but felt it would have been gauche to ask--and as it hit his tongue he let his hand fall to his lap and made a few slight gestures to cast the decoding spell. Instantly his brain filled up with memory the way his mouth filled with the sensation of cool summer peaches. He had no idea how Fera created thought strands this way, the information apparently cooked into the little candies and the physical strands dissolving into nothing as soon as they were activated and the memories absorbed. He actually had asked after that one; gauche or no, it was a trick worth a little awkwardness to learn. Feralina had simply given him a coy smile and said that any good Dimir knew the value of her own secrets, and he let it go. He had since heard a rumor among other agents that she made a tidy commission from the guild making them via her own proprietary blend of confectionery and unique magic, and if it wasn’t true then he felt it certainly ought to be.

Personally, if he couldn’t learn how to create them himself, he was just glad that she was exceptional at confectionery. He’d eaten a lot of these over the years. 

The new information appeared in his brain with a sensation that was something akin to a bubble bursting, knowledge fluidly popping and rippling into place. When he had joined House Dimir, he had found the feeling very disconcerting; it had taken him about two months to stop flinching and blinking rapidly every time he activated a thought strand. Now he just sat loosely and gave the information a moment to find its place, perfectly unreactive as he simply focused on the taste of the candy and allowed his mind to drift. It was the equivalent of not tensing before an impact, and it made the whole process faster and easier--in the space of a few heartbeats, he found himself thinking of information he hadn’t known before in something that was almost but not quite a memory.

[ _ The Azorius Banquet in three weeks had been moved from the Imesen Conference Center to the Palasine Guildhall - which, unlike the neutral Conference Center, was an operating Azorius location and contained a number of valuable resources. He would be using the Banquet as cover to break into the filing offices of Judge Tova and copy and deliver all the documents contained in File B.847. Original documents were to be replaced, security measures reset. He was to be openly in attendance at the Banquet as a legitimate guest and have some contact and conversation with some of the attending Azorius in order to establish his presence, and should have interactions with other guests both before and after the actual theft to allay any suspicion.] _

His first thought was that this felt simple. Not without risk, obviously, but simple. Azorius tended not to be on the lookout for threats when they were in their own territory surrounded by other Azorius, and stealing something from them in their own Guildhall would likely be easier than trying to take anything somewhere unaffiliated like the Conference Center, where they would be more wary. Not only did they get complacent at home, convinced that their authority and merit were security enough, but they also liked to talk at length on esoteric points of law and history. The Azorius in a social gathering could be relied on to contain each other for him. Meanwhile, their almost pathological dedication to orderly systems meant there was a good chance of things like file cabinet arrangement, folder organization, and storage being relatively easy to sort through. Other than being a somewhat high-profile event, most of the details seemed manageable.

Then his personal thoughts caught up with his professional ones. 

Aster closed his eyes with a groan.

“What’s the matter,  _ badra _ ?” Fera asked.

He sighed. “This is the Annual Lower Precinct Banquet, right? The one before Saint Auren’s Day?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“There’s a concert as part of the Banquet--it’s small, but it’s prestigious in music circles. The Azorius like to use it to show off their patronage of the fine arts, try to make people think they aren’t so uptight.” He opened his eyes, looking straight up. Little cottony piles of clouds scudded by, but they didn’t have much to offer and hurried on. “I asked Yenna to go with me last week.”

Fera made a long, low noise that expressed exactly how unfortunate this was, and sounded like Aster felt. “Oh, honey, I’m sorry. That’s  _ aya avroza _ *, no lie there.”

“Yeah. I already have tickets and everything.” 

After a second, Fera said, “Baby, I wish it wasn’t like this...but…”

“No, I know.” He dropped his chin into his hand, giving his glass of tea a crestfallen look. “I’ll tell her I had something come up.”

“Come on, don’t be so sad,” Fera pleaded. “You always look sad; when you’re actually sad you look like an abandoned puppy in a wet gutter. Those eyes are just wringing all the love out of my heart.” She squeezed his hand. “I’m sure she’ll understand.”

Aster exhaled, a rueful puff of air. “She’ll understand; I’m not worried about that. She won’t even be mad. It’s just…” He paused, unsure if he wanted to proceed. 

Too late. Interest piqued, Fera raised perfect eyebrows and looked at him over the frame of her amber glasses, pinning him with a prompting look until the intensity made his skin itch, and he gave in and continued. “It’s just that I was hoping this would be kind of a date. A first date.”

Fera wrinkled her nose, somehow managing to make it attractive. “ _ First _ date? Haven’t you been seeing her for like a month?”

“About that, yeah.”

“Well…” She opened her hands, gesturing as if she expected an explanation to be placed in them. “Not to be rude, but damn, what have you been doing?”

He ran his fingers back through his dark hair as if to push it out of his eyes, even though it wasn’t actually quite long enough. “Going slow. Right now we’ve just been spending time together as friends.”

She frowned. “Why? I thought you liked this girl--are you worried she’s not into it?”

“No, she is,” he said. “She’s...easy to read, and it’s pretty clear that she’s interested. But she’s inexperienced, and I feel like she’s not sure how to move forward so she’s kind of defaulted to waiting on me. And I just...I feel a little bad, but I just haven’t taken that step yet. I mean, I was going to a few times, but…”

“But then you worry about something like this coming up,” Fera said. Her voice was sympathetic.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. 

Fera pursed her lips. “I mean, you don’t have to make it a serious thing.”

“No, I do,” he said, shaking his head. “She’s...different. She’s really sincere, all in with every emotion, just like that.” He snapped his fingers. “She’s not going to want a casual fling.”  _ She deserves better than a casual fling.  _ He let his hand drop to the table, exasperated. “And honestly, I don’t really want that either. The whole messing around on the quiet isn’t really my thing.”

“I know,” Fera said. She gave a deep sigh. “Look...I know you,  _ cholino.  _ You’ve got a romantic heart under there, and I know deep down you really do want that whole emotional commitment package. You’re not the kind of boy who wants to nip in for afternoon sex once a week--you’re the kind of boy who wants to find a girl to be sun and moon with and write love songs for her. And that’s sweet. I even think that kind of relationship would be good for you. But unfortunately, baby,” she said with a shake of her head, “that means you’ve got some serious extra hurdles in your love life.”

He wanted to deny it--but it was hard to find any unevenness in her description to hang an argument on. After all, Feralina didn’t make her living by being a poor shot at analyzing people. “I know,” he conceded heavily at last, propping his elbow on the table and letting his forehead drop into his palm. “I just...I like her. A lot. And I don’t want work to screw it up.” He looked down at the stone surface of the table, its surface etched in scars and its edges worn raggedly rounded. “Is it that much to ask to have a job and a relationship?” he muttered.

“I know it feels like it shouldn’t be,” Fera answered softly, “but you’ve gotta face facts about the life you’re living. If you want a long-term relationship outside the Household* either they need to be okay with it, or you need to be okay with them never knowing. And…” She looked down at her hands, lacing the fingers of one hand through the other and flexing them automatically, like an old habit. When she looked back up, her expression was one of more understanding that he had expected. “Both of those can get rough. Trust me.” 

His brow furrowed. “But people do make it work.”

Her fingers made another lacing undulation. Then she took a deep breath and deliberately separated her hands, placing them on the table with characteristic grace. “Yeah,  _ badra _ ,” she answered after a long moment. “People do.” She threw him a small smile of acknowledgment. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll be one of them. I hope so anyway; be nice to see it go right for someone who deserves it at least.”

He gave her a return smile, equally small, but grateful. “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” he joked quietly.

She shrugged playfully, leaning back and letting space between them loosen and fill with fresh air. “I’ve seen you pull off some unexpected wins in the past--you may look like a melancholy poet, but you’ve got a trick or two under your hand. No real reason to doubt you now...so sure, have at it, loverboy. And I really hope you get it all figured out. I do.” She lowered her glasses a little so she could peer over the rim. “Just promise to take care of yourself first, okay?”

He rolled his eyes. “Of course. I won’t run in front of carts or talk to strangers or anything.” 

She was still watching him over the rim of the glasses, pale brown eyes broken into a gold horizon by the line of the amber lenses. After a moment, he nodded. “I promise I’ll try,” he said seriously.

“Fair enough,” she allowed, breaking her gaze. “And hey,” she continued, her voice once again blithe, smooth, “it’s a late arrangement, so you’re getting pay-and-a-half for the job. Use the money and take her somewhere nice. I mean, there’s got to be something more fun than a guildhall full of Azorius, right?”

“Are you saying my date wasn’t going to be fun?”

“I’m saying if that’s where you invited her and she was excited about it, then you two are perfect for each other,” Fera said flatly.

Aster took a sip of his tea. “It’s called culture,” he said with an air of refinement.

“It’s called, ‘you’re both weird musicians’.”

He chose not to dignify that with a response. Tilting his glass, he drained the last of the tea, finishing off the final honey-saturated mouthful. It would be fine. Feralina was right; he would apologize to Yenna for cancelling and invite her somewhere else, take her somewhere she would really enjoy. Maybe he would even take her to one of the fancy Selesnyan tea houses in Ovitzia--it would be worth choking down a little grass-flavored tea if it made her happy.

Aster wanted to tell Yenna what was going on, about the Dimir, his work...and he would. Eventually. He would wait until he could find the right time and explain it to her, carefully, calmly, in a way she would understand. He knew he could figure it out if he just had a little time. Maybe if things were going well, he would tell her after this Azorius job was finished--he nodded to himself. That felt right. Yes, after this, he would figure out how and when, and he would talk himself up to it, and he would tell her. He just had to keep everything under control until then. And that shouldn’t be a problem. He had bluffed Azorius arresters and Orzhov collectors and any number of violent, unstable people to their faces; walked through the front door of places he had no business being under false identities; stolen information from under the noses of people whose only goal was to prevent him from doing so. This was just managing a perfectly nice relationship for a few weeks until he could take care of this job and get everything figured out. 

Really, how hard could it be?


	2. II. Verse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trapped between his work and his personal life, Aster take Yenna to a performer's bar to figure things out. Contains theater types, an oversexed Rakdos imp acrobat, and a beleaguered Izzet vedalkan trying to keep everything settled. Also: comfort hugs, hand-holding, and sweet-talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Footnotes:
> 
> Orathi kalai -- Traditional Selesnyan greeting from the ancient oral histories, roughly: “in every heart a seed”  
> Dove -- Slang term meaning innocent. Can be used in the negative to imply naivete or guilelessness, or positively to mean gentle and kind hearted.  
> Achla ah’crie -- Coastal term of endearment; roughly equivalent to ‘darling’, literally: pulse/tide of my heart  
> Lashabosc -- “Bosc”, an old local word meaning “tree” is often used to name the wider neighborhood surrounding any of the Selesnyan hometrees, with the name of the specific tree itself coming first.

Yenna managed not to dash across the park at full gallop, but only just. Copper evening sunlight fell over her in shallow rays from behind, still strong enough to warm the dark swathes of fur on her back. The warmth felt good. Everything felt good. She wanted to kick up her heels, run through a field, maybe jump over something--she was so full of excitement it felt like it was pressing at her skin from the inside, and she was filled with the urge to let it escape in a burst of activity. She was only keeping it contained because she didn’t want to look like an utter lunatic, and even a lifetime of emphasis on proper behavior was barely sufficient for the task. 

She saw Aster sitting on a bench under the big linden tree, reading a leatherbound book positioned to catch the late sun, and couldn’t stop herself from calling his name. He looked up and she saw his eyes widen slightly in alarm; realizing she was coming in actually quite fast, she forced herself to slow to a trot as she approached. Her instinct was just to sweep him up into a hug, but she checked herself and pulled up short in front of him, spills of dirt rolling up under her hooves. 

In the relatively short amount of time they had spent together, she had learned that not everyone had the same level of comfort with physical contact as the Selesnyans. Everyone in her guild touched each other constantly: an arm around a shoulder, squeezing a hand, leaning in and pressing foreheads together, embracing in friendship; all of it was used to express casual support, reassurance, closeness, and just a general way of reaffirming social bonds among the Conclave. Very quickly, she had realized that outside the guild many Ravnicans saw that level of interaction as overly familiar, almost invasive. The first time she had hugged Aster--about half an hour after meeting him, which was easily enough for Selesnyans but seemingly much too early for everyone else--he hadn’t said anything but had stiffened like a cat that didn’t want to be picked up. Ever since, she had tried to be sparing with it. She still didn’t understand  _ why _ anyone would feel uncomfortable with touching, especially since beyond the borders of the vernadi citizens seemed fine packing shoulder to shoulder just to go down some of the main thoroughfares. But for whatever reason that was just different. Apparently. So even though they were friends, and even on special occasions like now when she really, really wanted to, she had been making her best effort to be respectful and not invade his space without invitation. 

She was not, however, able to stop herself from grinning like a dope.

“Hey,” Aster said slowly, closing the book and getting to his feet. He said it almost warily, and she briefly wondered how good of a job she was really doing at not looking crazy. For once, she didn’t even care--she was too excited, and when Aster heard her news he would be too. 

“Hey,” she answered, trying to at least perform the due diligence of hellos before blurting things out. She was still smiling, a smile that almost hurt her face and that she was sure looked idiotic. She clasped her hands and pressed them to her mouth to try to cover it and regain a little composure.

Aster raised an eyebrow that said that it wasn’t working--although she noticed he had started smiling a little too. She liked it when he smiled; it brightened his face like a sudden breeze moving through a summer day. “Whatever it is, you might as well go ahead and tell me,” he said, rolling his eyes but softening it with a kind expression.

She took her hands away from her mouth and they fluttered a little, involuntarily; she clasped them back together in front of her to keep from flapping at him. “Okay--are you ready for the  _ best _ news?”

“Should I be sitting down?”

“No need,” she said, “you’d just get right back on your feet when you hear this!”

“Yenna, just tell me before you pass out or something.”

“Right. Yes.” Yenna forced herself to take a deep breath, steadying herself. “Okay. So you know that Azorius Banquet we were going to?”

For a split second, surprise darted across his face, as if she had read his mind or something. “I- yes,” he said, recovering, “actually I wanted to talk to you about...wait,  _ were _ ?” Aster’s brow furrowed in confusion.

Yenna nodded excitedly. “So, I’m really sorry about this, but you’re going to have to return those tickets. Because we’re not going to the concert.”

Surprise and confusion were accumulating in Aster’s expression like rain clouds, the expression of someone rapidly losing the thread of a conversation and struggling to catch it again. “We aren’t?”

“Nope!” With a flourish and a jaw-aching smile, she produced a piece of heavy parchment-card lined with elegant geometric patterns of blue ink and silver gilt-leaf. Information was written on it in a vertical scroll of neat calligraphy. Yenna already knew what it said--and she was just able to wait for Aster to read the relevant information, watching his dark eyes zig-zag down the page and then come to an abrupt halt. She could no longer contain a little bounce of excitement. “We’re  _ in _ the concert,” she half-whispered in delight.

Aster stared at the concert bill for several long moments, blinking dumbly. The silence stretched so long that Yenna began to worry that the news might have sent him into some kind of shock. She reached out and touched his shoulder, and he startled like a person being woken up from a nap. 

“Aster?”

“I-” He shook his head, poleaxed, and looked up at her. “This is...unbelievable. How…?”

She gave a motion that could only be described as a wriggle, immensely pleased with herself. “They changed the venue for the Banquet to one of the Azorius Guildhalls, and apparently that changed their schedule--they extended the concert to adjust and added a few more performers. They wanted someone from the Selesnya, so they ended up talking with my Maestra, and then she talked to me. My voda Loreena thought it would be good to feature a duet or trio and asked me to suggest a partner…” She looked slightly downward, still smiling but suddenly feeling oddly shy. “So I brought your name up.”

He was staring at the concert bill again, and she saw something in his expression like a strong current beneath the surface, some emotion she couldn’t place. There was a crease between his brows, and his mouth moved as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t decide what. Finally he looked back up at her, meeting her gaze. “Why me?” 

He held his composure well, but she heard it in his voice. He was moved.

Touched, her heart went out to him. 

“Because you’re amazing.” Wondering if that had been too much, she quickly appended, “You’re a fantastic musician. It’s not just me; you really made an impression at the Sumala Fair--Maestra Talisen and Loreena both knew you by reputation and thought you’d be a good choice. You deserve this.” Privately, she was certain that if he had been in a guild, he’d have already gotten this kind of opportunity well before now. As far as she was concerned, bringing him up had just helped correct an oversight.

The muscles in his throat moved as he swallowed hard. “I can’t...I can’t repay you for this,” he said quietly, shaking his head in disbelief.

She made a face caught somewhere between a smile and a frown. “You don’t have to repay me for anything. I already said: you deserve it. And besides...honestly, you’re doing me a favor.” Yenna hesitated. She still wasn’t sure what the rules for touching were supposed to be, but he seemed to need some sort of reassurance. Reaching out, she opted for lightly placing a hand on his shoulder--and hoped the limited contact conveyed everything she wanted him to know; that he didn’t owe her anything; that it wasn’t done out of pity or obligation, but sincere respect; that she had been happy to recommend him. 

That she wanted him to be there.

She kept her voice gentle, the tone she used when she sang songs to the young children at the Conclave. “Aster, I mean it.” She met his eyes, woodland-dark, and resisted the urge to lay her forehead against his, instead giving his shoulder a steadying squeeze. “There’s no one else I’d rather have on stage with me.” 

The second the moment was in the open between them, Yenna felt a twitch of fear that it had been too much, too close. Breaking her gaze, she let go of him, awkwardly withdrawing her hand and placing it under her other palm against her stomach.

_ You’re doing it again, cloud-brain. _

This kept happening. She didn’t mean to do it, to push her feelings at him; it was just that every time she talked to him she felt so much more than what she said bubbling in her chest, all of it wanting to spill out like a stream opening under the snowmelt in spring. And she knew she couldn’t, knew it would be the wrong thing to do without knowing  _ why _ it would be the wrong thing to do--she only felt certain that if she said too much or let too many emotions out that it would spook him, drive him off. All she could manage was to try to restrain herself and hope she wasn’t making him uncomfortable. Because that was the last thing she wanted. The first thing she wanted was...confusing, and warm, and enticing like the smell of lilacs in wooded groves. She was still trying to figure out what it was, exactly, and how to tell him about it, and in the meantime just trying not to talk or touch too much and mess it up.

She wondered if this time she had failed.

Holding her breath, she risked a glance at him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be weird,” she started explaining. “I was just-”

Suddenly he was hugging her. For a moment she was so surprised that she just stood like a statue, but then her body caught up with what was happening and she returned the embrace, happily pulling him in. Something inside her burst into song; she bit her lip to keep it from radiating out of her, but it buoyed her like a bird on a thermal.  _ Finally!  _

His face was against her, and she smelled soap on his skin, sharp and clean and mineral-heavy like the ocean. Selesnyans didn’t treat themselves with anything perfumed, advocating that everyone was best in their natural state, but as she inhaled the scent she had to admit that there was an appeal... 

“Okay, let me breathe a little.” Aster’s voice was muffled in the thick coils of her hair and folds of her clothing and the curve of her neck. She realized she had managed to keep hold of him for long moments now, letting all of her happiness trap him against her. And that she might have been nuzzling him, just a tiny bit. She released her hold with an apologetic cough and took a half-step backward.

“Sorry,” she said. She didn’t feel sorry, though.

He shook his head, dismissing the apology. “No, you’re just fine.” 

She could practically hear him thinking. 

At first, Yenna had been worried that Aster was disinterested or unhappy when they were interacting, before she’d gotten to know him better. She had since figured out that Aster was just very reserved, like some of the Selesnyan elders and hierarchs, and he kept his emotions well contained. Not immediately conveying what she was feeling was an approach she tried herself when attempting to be poised--with mixed results at best--but at least it was one that she understood. It struck her as strange on someone relatively young, especially on such an expressive face, but now she had simply made a habit of paying close attention. At the moment his normally somber look was animated from beneath, and behind his eyes she could see his mind racing. She couldn’t blame him--her heart had been beating like a hummingbird’s since she found out this afternoon, and she was glad he was here, excited with her. Something like this would have been a lot to take in alone. Her impulse was to talk, babble, gush about the whole thing, but she took a breath and quieted herself, giving him a moment to process everything while he stared into the middle distance. 

It went on for a while.

“Is this okay?” she finally asked, after a long pause, suddenly worried that she had done something wrong. “Are  _ you _ okay?”

He seemed startled again, then caught himself and nodded. “Very okay...just a lot to take in. Listen.” He reached across the space between them and took her hand. His thumb just lightly pressed the back of her hand, and the sensation made her skin feel alight, electric. “Thank you. Truly, thank you. It means a lot to me that you did this.”

It was maybe the most open thing he had ever said to her. She felt the words move into her chest and nestle behind her breastbone like a jewel, and she swallowed to try to settle the strange, not-unpleasant tightness of it. “You’re welcome.” Her voice sounded odd in her own ears, sort of soft and fleecy. She was a little unsure why, but she pressed on. “I really am glad that we’ll be there together.”

He squeezed her hand, causing her stomach to do an unexpected little flip. “Me too.”

The stupid smile was back in force--if anything, it might have been even stupider now than when the conversation started. She put her free hand to her mouth and pressed her fingers to her lips, trying to physically push back the sudden urge to make a noise that she thought would come out as a very dim-witted giggle-snort, but wasn’t sure and didn’t want to risk it. Clearly sensing that she was struggling to keep herself contained, Aster let go of her other hand with a final squeeze so she could add it to the first, trying to stopper any undignified noises trying to escape. 

And for several hard-fought seconds, she succeeded.

Then the entire attempt collapsed like a poorly-built tent. All her excitement came out in a very, very inelegant shriek of delight that she was glad no one from the Conclave was around to notice. Without telling them to, her legs began kicking out coltishly, and she involuntarily performed a bouncing, prancing little circle around Aster. Her hands balled themselves up into triumphant fists.

“Isn’t this  _ fantastic _ ?!” she squealed. Overjoyed, she actually allowed herself to buck a little--unbecoming for a nice Selesnyan centaur, but she thought the occasion warranted at least a small one. “The Lower Precinct Banquet, and we’re going to be  _ performing! _ ” She reached over and tapped at the concert bill Aster still held in his hand, pointing as if he hadn’t read it. “ _ We even got good billing! _ ” She threw her hands up and let out a whoop, drumming an inspired impromptu staccato rhythm with her hooves. All of her antics were drawing the attention of a few evening visitors to the park, but it didn’t bother her now--if anything, she sort of wanted to grab them and hug them and spread the jubilation around. Why shouldn’t everyone be happy? After all, it was a great day. The best day.

She definitely wanted to hug Aster again, although, having gotten away with a pretty long hug just a few moments ago, she resisted the impulse. She was very aware that despite the fact that her hopping around like a fawn was including him in the silliness by proxy, he didn’t try to stop her. If she’d been this loudly ditzy at the vernadi, someone would have appeared to sush her, or at least fix her with a cowing look to remind her that as a face for the guild outside the Conclave, she was supposed to be a model member. Grace and tranquility and restraint and all of that. Traits, ironically, that Aster had...but didn’t ask of her. Actually, he never asked anything of her, not in terms of keeping up appearances. He was apparently content just to be with her and keep company while she acted however she felt, and never seemed to think it was weird or said anything or stopped wanting to see her again.

After a lifetime of grooming to present a perfect Selesnyan face to the world, it was shockingly nice to have someone  _ not _ care what she was doing.

“You know what?” Aster said, watching her continued dancing about. “We should celebrate. Let’s go out--I’ll take you somewhere fun.”

“Yeah?”

He nodded. “Yeah. You deserve it.” He carefully maneuvered around her and started leading the way. “Come on, I know a place you’ll like.”

She trotted along after him, still wearing a huge grin. “A mysterious fun place for celebrating? Can’t wait!” As a compromise, she allowed herself to bump against his shoulder in what she hoped was a companionable way while they walked, and she was rewarded to see him look up and smile at her. That added considerable icing on top of her good mood, and for a bit she was happy to just walk along with him as if drifting along on a river of clouds. 

However, at some point she couldn’t help but notice how quiet he was being. It took a while, admittedly--it was hard to focus with her mind awash in giddy spirals, and for some reason she couldn’t stop thinking about him holding her hand--but eventually the awareness seeped in. There was just something odd in his expression. Preoccupied. Maybe...worried.

Her smile faded slightly, and she bit her lip.

She didn’t want to be a bother, especially after he had let her respond in her own way without comment. But she was still a little concerned that she might have done the wrong thing.  _ He would tell me if that was the case, though. Right? Unless… _ Unless something else was going on, and he didn’t want her to feel bad by telling her. Although what that would be, she had no idea. 

Letting her pace fall half a step behind him, she listened sideways and let herself dip down into the worldsong. Just a fraction, not enough to bring her to a halt or make her trip on her feet--she hoped--but enough to try to sound things out a little. The initial contact still poured over her and filled her head to bursting with the music of light and life. What else, with the song of an entire world between her ears? She took a meditative breath and let it flow into her. The harmonics of warm air from the day seeping off the plants and the earth and the stone, replaced by a cool drawn veil of night. Counterpoint notes of children running through the park with the sound of pounding feet and dirty knees and laughter, getting the last games in before daylight waned completely. The undertones of city nightlife coming alive, emotions and people rising to join the milieu on the active evening thoroughfares. Above it all, the high, clear chime of stars. After a few breaths all the parts calmed and settled into place, and she was able to walk along with the sound washing around her like a current. 

Paying just enough attention to keep in step with Aster, she let her awareness slide through all the different lines of music until she settled on his. 

Everyone had an aura in the worldsong, of sorts, a set of sound elements associated with them. She couldn’t always pinpoint it with people she didn’t know, who tended to get lost in the infinite parts, but she could recognize people familiar to her by their unique motif. Her voda Loreena was the sound of morning glories unwrapping at dawn and warm hands placed lovingly on warm wood in kinship. Maestra Talisen was the sound of sharp silver light glinting off a bow--though Yenna couldn’t tell if the bow was musical or weapon--and a steely breath drawn before opening a door. The leshy was the sound of perfectly smooth water against perfectly smooth stone mated against each other for centuries, and the deep quiet of holdfasts and undisturbed dark mud at the bottom of the water, all mixed with some distant and eldritch humming. 

She couldn’t hear her own aura, though she had repeatedly tried and often wondered. 

Lately, she had gotten fairly adept at picking out Aster’s aura, a complex, midnight-blue tone of water and shadow and parchment and things crucially unnoticed. It was somewhat more distinct than the average person’s, as she’d found musicians tended to be, and had a strange but unmistakable accent to it that was part of him yet not, something that reminded her of overtones she heard in Selesnyan priests or Ledev Guardians with their wolf familiars. She wasn’t sure what that meant--she had taught herself to listen for the individual songs, to recognize them, but they were difficult to interpret beyond vague sensory impressions of emotions. Still, turning a quick ear to it couldn’t hurt. Gently drawing the one refrain that was Aster out of the weave of melody, she pushed the rest back down and relaxed her awareness until it lensed into focus.

Immediately, she heard the difference. Normally Aster’s thread in the worldsong was collected and reserved, cool, the smooth undulation of regular waves lapping at stone. Now it was as if the water had been stirred up into churning curls of foam, nets of endless minute bubbles bursting into being all  _ prestissimo  _ trills and  _ molto vivace _ and rush of tossing current _.  _ She heard each of the infinitesimal bubbles surging upward, bright and darting like tiny shooting stars; against them the deep, heavy suction of dark water diving relentlessly downward into some secret depths. The two forces tangled with each other, one rising in a shimmering riff, the other dropping deep into notes that hummed long into the bones, forming concordant counterpoints even as they pulled against each other…

Yenna blinked, feeling almost light-headed as she barely remembered to keep walking.

_ What in the name of Mat’Selesnya is that about? _

Trying not to react, she glanced surreptitiously over at Aster. He was clearly lost in thought, but must have felt her looking, because he turned and met her gaze and gave her a small smile before facing ahead and diving inward again. His face was calm, mostly, but for a slight furrow between his brows and almost imperceptible tension under his eyes. She would have never suspected the underlying turmoil from his expression, and almost felt that she had made a mistake, that she’d heard wrong. But no, as she came back to the relative quiet of the waking world, she still heard echoes of the song when she looked at him: the sibilating whisper of a space suffused with bubbles, the weighted reverberation of fluid mysteries dragging down.

Baffled, she looked away so he wouldn’t catch her staring, but the chaotic frothing noise still formed lingering eddies in her ears, which gave a few involuntary twitches as if trying to shake out the watery sound. What was going on? She could clearly hear that  _ something  _ was happening, but it wasn’t like attuning to the worldsong came with helpful instructions. What did it mean? Something? Nothing? Was this just what excitement sounded like for him? Considering it, she didn’t think so; it was too...conflicted, too many dark notes. It just didn’t quite fit. Nervousness? She’d heard the equivalent of butterflies in the stomach from other performers, and this shared some of the themes, but generally that was right before a show. And honestly, he’d never seemed that prone to that kind of fretfulness as far as she could tell; certainly less than she herself was. So what was it? She didn’t want to ask, not now--normally, listening to someone in the worldsong didn’t feel any different than observing them with any other sense. But normally she didn’t find anything that made it feel like, well, spying. Besides, how would she even ask that?  _ Hey, I was listening to your essence in the mystical collective song of everything, and I noticed it sounded weird. Want to talk about it? _

Nope. 

Definitely not going to work.

They left the park and stepped onto the cobbles of Keth Road, the rubberized bases of her shoes making a muted clopping noise, Aster’s steps making almost no sound at all. The sun was nearly down now, the evening light sinking the world in shades of violet and wine. Along the thoroughfare, Izzet magelights crackled to life with sharp little sizzles, drawing evening moths to the illuminated upper canopy of lampposts. Night vendors were bringing out their carts as the day crowd headed home and the night folk came out, and the air quickly filled with the smell of frying breads and bubbling sweets and things served on sticks, accompanied by enthusiastic hawking. Yenna was so in her own head she almost didn’t notice when Aster led her over to a cart until he was ordering food. She thanked him automatically as he handed her a long skewer of fat golden chunks of squash roasted in garlic oil and rolled in crispy bread flakes, taking a butterflied, paprika-dusted millipede spitted on a kabob for himself. Sinking her teeth into the buttery foodstuff, she was glad that chewing gave her an excuse for silent thought, although she wasn’t sure if Aster had even noticed how quiet she’d been. She gave a little snort--as much as she babbled, maybe he was just happy for the peace. 

Walking along, she let herself feel out the silence between them. A cursory ear on the worldsong revealed that the frenzied bubbling and drag had begun to form patterns, intricate, still wild but now arranging into interlocking forms. Strange harmonies to her, but harmonies nonetheless. So that was...better? Still, she wondered what was going on. She’d heard him play several times now, worldsong-immersed and all, and she hadn’t heard anything like this before. Trying to push it aside, she wondered if she was just reading too much into things. Or maybe…

...Maybe it wasn’t about the show?

Then what?

But she already knew what, before she even had the conscious thought:

_ Maybe it’s about me? _

Her chest was suddenly filled with a swelling rhythm that was both intense and weirdly pliant, like someone beating the dust from a terribly overstuffed cushion, and her heart felt like it had come untethered and bobbed up into the base of her throat. Forcing herself to swallow her current mouthful of squash, she wished she had taken a smaller bite. Everything below her chin suddenly felt too crowded, brimming over with  _ something _ .

What if it  _ was _ because of her; because of her or because of what she did? 

Was that good?

Bad? 

Did she make him feel the way he made her feel, the feeling of being out in the open right before a thunderstorm rolled over you, all off-kilter and agitated and too-warm and electrified and floating? 

Did he like it? 

How was she supposed to find out?

Was there some way to ask, or guess, or some set of cues she was supposed to be watching for?

Oh goddess, what if they had already happened and she’d missed it?

Was it too late?

Wait, too late for what?

What exactly was she supposed to do if he felt the same?

Or if he didn’t?

What if she said something and he had no idea what she was talking about?

Worse, what if she said something and he rejected her outright?

Would he still want to be friends if that happened, still want to spend time with her?

What if she was just imagining all of it?

In the name of the Blessed Roots of Vitu-Ghazi,  _ what was she supposed to do _ ?

“Yenna?”

Hearing a voice other than her own was so unexpected that Yenna almost jumped out of her skin. She looked over at Aster to see him looking at her, worry clearly written on his face. 

“Is everything okay?”

“Mmhmm?” she responded, unable to even make an actual word and having to settle for a rather startled and unhelpful noise.  _ Stupid stupid stupid…  _ “Oh, no, I-” She realized that she had stopped walking--dear goddess, when had she stopped walking, she didn’t even remember, how long had she just been standing here like a signpost?--and was still holding a mostly-uneaten skewer of roasted squash. 

Something inside of her wanted to scuttle under a rock like a lizard and hide until everyone forgot she existed. __

Yenna forced herself to breathe, realizing she had apparently stopped doing that too, and tried to remember what making a normal face felt like as she groped for a response. “I guess I just have a lot on my mind” she said, lamely, but she had to say something at this point or risk looking completely mental. Or worse, invite additional follow-up questions that she would be even less prepared to convincingly lie about. 

Even though she was certain that she must be leaking craziness all over the place like a sieve, if she looked as frazzled as she felt, Aster was diplomatic enough not to show it. Instead he just gave her a sympathetic smile. “I get it...there’s a lot to think about.” 

_ What? What does he mean by that--wait, no, stop it!  _ She desperately hauled up on her brain, trying to pull up short from the spiraling pit of infinite questions that had already pulled her down for who-knew-how-long.  _ Not this again--focus!  _ Forcing herself to stay in the present and out of her head, she made her mouth form a small answering smile and hoped it looked understanding, rather than flummoxed and a bit sick. It must have worked well enough, at least, because Aster continued.

“But, good news,” Aster he was saying, “I think this will help take your mind off things. We’re here.”

She frowned. “Um...here?” 

Glancing around, she could tell that they had followed Keth Road far enough to be in the Daleward, a section of the city distinguished by pockets of dells and low-lying terrain. The Daleward was close enough to Vitu-Lasha that she had visited it on market trips with her guild and recognized its landmarks, including several signs bearing the stylized glyph of a willow tree that was the neighborhood’s unofficial emblem. Several of the real willow trees ubiquitous to the area bowed their verdant heads over the road, trailing plumed branches over passersby. Along the road ahead she saw several shops and taverns, some just closing for the night and others just opening, with people travelling among them accordingly. She didn’t see anything she would describe as being “here”; the only thing immediately near them being a row of rather large arrowwood shrubs lining the street. Yenna wondered if, while mired in her own head not getting answers, she had missed something relevant.

Aster actually grinned at her. Without saying anything, he stepped up onto the grassy verge, strolled over to a pink-blooming arrowwood bush, and walked into it. Suddenly, he disappeared from view, leaving only starbursts of pink flowers illuminated by lamplight. Yenna pulled back, startled, then cautiously approached the place Aster had disappeared. She didn’t hear the lingering resonance of a nearby teleport, but there was something off, a slight muffling of sound around the arrowwood. She leaned in and stretched out a hand to the sawtooth leaves, to test it somehow--and gave an involuntary yelp when Aster’s hand reappeared from nowhere and took hers and pulled her forward. She lurched ahead, too off-balance to stop and expecting a facefull of arrowwood. Instead, she found herself standing on a narrow but well-worn trail between the high shrubs. Looking back over her shoulder, she saw faint shimmer like a misty curtain drawn between where they stood and the bustling activity of Keth Road, flowing with people who didn’t look up or seem to notice them standing in the bushes at all. She looked back at Aster, who was still grinning.

“Illusion?” she asked, trying to look nonchalant and not like someone who was incredibly startled to be pulled into a bush.

“Secret entrance,” he replied conspiratorially. 

Her brows knit together. “There’s a  _ secret entrance _ ? What kind of place is this?”

“Follow me,” he said. It wasn’t an answer, but he started walking and she noticed then that he was still holding her hand, and it was all she could manage to get out a gawky noise of assent and let herself be led while quickly hoping her palms weren’t sweaty. 

The path wound through the tall overgrowth like a hedge maze, close enough that flowers grazed her flanks, and tilted downward into one of the Daleward hollows. In a moment they passed under a hanging screen of pear-green leaves as the path wandered beneath the arcade of a truly massive willow tree. Yenna heard the sound of splashing water, and beyond that voices and music. They rounded a corner and the trail suddenly opened up to reveal their destination, and she couldn’t suppress an involuntary little gasp of delight.

They were indeed down in one of the hollows, a watery bed of cattails and reeds draped with the feathery branches of a trio of overhanging willows. And standing over the water on a forest of stilts was a sprawling construction. It may have started as one building, but it had clearly spread and forked and drifted from the central platform like a sprouting cluster of mushrooms until it now straddled a large swath of the reedbed. It was mostly open, a rough central area spilling onto a cluster of ramshackle porches, verandas, sunrooms and other variants on structures with more roof than walls, hung with colorful if somewhat sun-bleached sheets of mismatched cloth bunched and tied at any available ceilings and corners. Lanterns hung everywhere, made of cheap glass that was either too thick or too thin and bubbled with impurities, but tinted in a rainbow of golds and oranges and corals and painting the scene in warm sunset light. Trellis railings and overhead lines were twined with tiny white flowers, which at first glance just seemed bright but at second glance were actually producing light, a cream-colored glow shining from the blossoms and attracting whirlwinds of coppery tiger moths. The air was filled with voices and music, and the smell of frying food and burned sugar and tobacco. And everywhere, there were people, people of every size, shape, and species wearing every kind of clothing and adornment imaginable and speaking in accents she hadn’t even known Ravnica had. People dancing through the mishmashed interior and spilling out onto the porches, people perched on the railings with lutes and fiddles, people sitting on the platform edges dangling their feet in the water--there were even a few people sitting on the jumbled overlapping sheets of rooftop. Not even the Sumala Fair could rival the variety of the crowd talking, laughing, dancing, singing, and generally running riot through the complex. 

Yenna realized her mouth was open.

“I told you it was a fun place,” Aster said, sounding pleased. His voice called her back to reality; she belatedly closed her mouth and took a more active look, trying to piece together the living kaleidoscope in front of her. She spotted a dilapidated sign jutting from the water near the front of the nearest platform, worn letters barely legible on the faded surface.

“Fiddler’s Swale?”

Aster shook his head. “The Fiddlehead.”

Feeling a little overwhelmed, Yenna gestured helplessly at the sign. “But...but it says-”

“I know, I know,” he said, waving his hands in acknowledgement. “The sign is a holdover from the old days. It’s been the Fiddlehead de facto for as long as anyone can remember.”

Surrounded by lights and sounds and smells and colors, for some reason the incongruity with the name lodged in her brain like a logjam, stoppering everything. She simply could not let it go. 

“...Why?” she asked dumbly.

Aster looked at her. “Because ‘Swale’ is an awful name for anything.” 

She stared at him.

He winked.

_ That really is a terrible name for anything.  _ And suddenly she was laughing, laughing so hard it was hard to breathe without really knowing why, but feeling the tension from the walk over ease inside her chest. She squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back.

“Come on,” he said. “Let me take you around.”

They stepped out onto a footbridge made of packed earth, a causeway leading out into the reeds and arcing in a slow ramp up to the platforms of the structure.

“So, what is this place really?” Yenna asked, looking down at silvery minnows darting among the reed stems. 

“It’s technically just a bar,” Aster answered as a fat bullfrog on the side of the walkway gave an offended croak at his feet and plopped back into the water. “The secret entrance is only there because everyone around here tends toward the melodramatic. It’s kind of a gathering place for the...artistic community, let's call it.”

She glanced up at the building as they approached, noting the high number of musical instruments. “Bards?”

“And actors. And dancers, poets, circus performers, theater-types. You know.” He gave her a half smile. “Ne’er-do-wells.”

She scanned the crowd. They were a loud and motley bunch, that was for sure. “Not really though, right?”

“Not too much,” he said with a good natured shrug. “They’re a boisterous lot, but they’re mostly decent folks. And they’re going to love you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

They reached the platform, her hooves making a hollow clopping noise on the wooden planks. She heard a few people call Aster’s name and turned to see scattered patrons waving and yelling among the general din. Then she felt Aster taking her hand and pulling it upward, and turned just in time to see him climb up on an unoccupied chair at an otherwise entirely occupied table next to them.

“Aster,  _ what are you doing _ -” she hissed.

He leaned back and cupped his other hand to his mouth. “Hey, Fiddlers!” Half the bar stopped what they were doing and turned to look, the buzzing din of conversation dropping off to a murmur. Aster grabbed a square of parchment and thrust it into the air. She recognized the program, and a split-second later recognized what Aster was about to do.

“No no-no-wait-”

Too late. He raised her hand aloft like a winning prize fighter.

“Guess who’s on the bill for the Azorius Annual Banquet concert?!”

The deck erupted with noise, a combination of cheers and whoops and applause, mixed with mocking boos and ribald comments about the Azorius. “You’re all jealous animals!” Aster yelled offhandedly at a table of people grinning and booing at them, then clambered down from the chair. Yenna wanted to say something, but she wasn’t sure if it was to thank him or yell at him, and before she could decide they were both surrounded by a mob of people. Suddenly she was awash in a sea of faces, people congratulating her, slapping her on the back, shaking her hand, asking her all kinds of questions that she barely had a chance to respond to before new ones were piled on. 

Dazed, she instinctively leaned in to Aster, who, after the first crowd of well-wishers fell back, guided her through the throng and down to one of the lower balconies where it was relatively quieter. Of course, it quickly became apparent that relatively quieter at The Fiddlehead still meant a cluster of very outgoing people surrounding her with intense interest. There were two half-elves who she took to be siblings or cousins or some sort of relation, a tall blonde man in cream-and-gold motley, a dark-haired woman with a lute that appeared to be made from cobbled together pieces of other lutes, a huge minotaur with fur so lustrously golden she thought it must have been an enchantment, a goblin in some sort of harness that looked be singed in several places, three humans wearing matching long vests with geometric patterns cut out of the cloth to show hexagons and triangles of bare skin. So many people paraded past her that she was at a loss to even attempt to keep track of them all. And they wanted to know  _ everything _ it seemed: who she was, what she played, who she had trained with, what piece she would be performing...after a while, she felt that they must know everything about her except that time when she was seven and had accidentally gotten stuck halfway through a mullioned niche window in the Ithurian Concert Hall. And she wasn’t absolutely positive that she hadn’t revealed that at some point as well. A drink had been placed in her hand, a cider that was so dry that it made her nose prinkle, but she sipped at it anyway out of politeness, and because taking a drink was the closest thing she could get to a break in the conversation. It was overwhelming…

But she had to admit, it was just a little bit flattering as well.

She had never had so many people rushing to compliment her before. Selesnyans emphasized humility, and quiet dedication of individual talent to the collective good of the whole. Everyone had their part to play, and all contributions had value. The kind of cult of personality that had popped up around her here was frowned upon...but also kind of bubbly and exciting, like taking a delicious cookie from the jar and getting away scot-free. Of course, she had never done such a thing, but she imagined it would feel like this felt. She knew that she ought to feel guilty about it, but she really did work hard on her music, and it was hard to feel bad when everyone was just so friendly. Maybe it was just the cider, but even though she graciously denied all claims of exceptional talent or skill, there was a warm, pleasurable feeling in her chest at the whole affair--and once she got used to the noise and unrelenting extroversion, there was something comforting about being surrounded by a close, supportive group, something familiar.

_ They’re like louder Selesnyans, _ she thought, feeling a little giddy.  _ Louder, and with way too much perfume, but Aster was right: very decent folks.  _

Of course, decent or not, they were still a large crowd of strangers, and Yenna was glad Aster was there with her to help address everyone and keep up with all of them. There had been a moment early on when he had started getting away from her, when she felt herself being separated from him by the movement of the crowd, and on instinct she had grabbed his hand, tightly. Maybe just a bit too tightly, but she had suddenly felt panicked at the idea of being alone with so many strangers. He seemed to recognize her distress--not a difficult task, she supposed, with her gripping his hand like a vice--and kept close to her after that. Reserved though he naturally was, he even stepped in a few times to fend off the crowd when they got too enthusiastic, a surprising combination of firmness and social dexterity that got her some space but didn’t leave anyone feeling upset. She was impressed; where large groups often made her feel flustered, he stayed markedly calm, keeping things under control in his quiet way. 

His presence was a stable point at her side, and she was grateful. Although she wished he gave himself more credit: she kept insisting, vigorously, that securing the concert spot was a shared accomplishment, but he was adept at deflecting all the praise and attention back to her despite her efforts. It was hard to tell if Aster genuinely thought she was the one who deserved this or if he was just naturally deferring, but she hoped he knew that she saw this as something for both of them together, as equal partners. She certainly didn’t think she deserved the opportunity more than him; the opposite if anything. She thought he was a wonderful musician. 

She thought he was wonderful. 

Eventually, after enough of the evening had gone by for the throng to mostly exhaust their questions, Aster escorted her clear of the group and led her deeper into the haphazard tangle of rooms. They moved past a room where musicians played from the roofbeams and the space was entirely given over to dancing, through another comprised of a bar running the entire length of the floor that Aster told her was actually the original Fiddler’s Swale Bar before the adding-on began, through a corridor with walls made solely of brilliantly patterned linen throws suspended from the eaves, and finally up to an elevated outer pavillion. Yenna was relieved that someone had kept centaurs in mind and designed the vertical connections as ramps; navigating the labyrinth was disorienting and a bit tight in spots, and she was glad she didn’t have to handle stairs as well. 

This room was mostly open to the air, making it a slightly quieter space if only because the noise had somewhere to escape. Railings enclosed the circular room, laced with vines of the glowing white flowers she had seen when they arrived, and broken by gaps where stairs and walkways led to other sections of the bar. Through small spaces between the floorboards, she saw a level beneath them, some kind of dock where people sat with their feet in the water smoking djags and ganja. The room they were in now had all its tables situated near the ground, with people sitting on mats or kneeling on rugs--the only standing-height furniture was the bar the curved along a quarter of the near wall, staffed by a goblin whose frilled, membranous gills marked him as a member of the Simic Combine. He was merrily stirring something bioluminescent aqua in a large glass jar; as Yenna watched, he ladled a portion of the liquid into a glass filled with ice, twisted a slice of orange over the concoction, triggering it to turn bright pink, then slid it over to a waiting patron. 

“Over here!” Aster was waving from across the room; she must have lost track of him for a moment. She tore her gaze away from the woman drinking the florid mixture, apparently with great relish, and threaded through the clusters of seated people toward the low table he stood in front of. Seated there was a vedalken with green-gold eyes and dark blue skin the color of midnight, his long legs tucked under him as precisely as the folds of a paper crane. He wore the metal-ornamented blue-and-red robes of the Izzet, the dragon sigil etched into the broad brass cuffs around his slender wrists. Aster gestured to him.

“Yenna, this is Vai Rayaz; he’s a friend of mine. Vai Rayaz, this is Yenna Callavyr.”

Despite everyone she had met that night and all the names Aster had given her--many of which had regrettably already drowned in a sea of conversation and a second glass of cider--this was the first time it felt like a formal introduction. Yenna clasped her right fist in her left hand in front of her and performed a small but proper bow with a dip of her head. “ _ Orathi kalai* _ .”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Filí Callavyr,” Vai Rayaz answered in a sonorous voice, using the official title for a Selesnyan bard. He made a fluid motion, indicating the place opposite him at the table with delicate blue fingers. “Come, put yourself at ease.” 

After hours of everyone crowing and talking and jostling, the decorum felt like shade on a midsummer day. Almost automatically Yenna lowered herself onto the thick wool mat laid out at the table, folding herself with restrained grace--instead of collapsing with a loud huff the way she suddenly wanted to. 

Aster was still standing, she noticed. “I have to head downstairs for a bit--just someone I need to talk to before they leave. But it won’t take long, and Vai Rayaz will keep you company until I get back. Okay?”

He reached out and put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently, and Yenna felt something voltaic flash in her chest. She nodded and heard herself agreeing, felt herself smile up at him. Then his hand was gone, but she could still feel the touch lingering on her skin like sunlight as she watched him disappear down the spiraling outer stairs.

It took a moment to remember that Vai Rayaz was there. She turned to apologize, but he had summoned a server with a drink seemingly by magic, and calmly placed the cool glass in her hand before she could say anything. She looked at the bright orange beverage with some apprehension.

“Don’t worry,” he said, taking a sip of what mercifully looked like a plain beer. “It’s chilled fruit juices. Peach and apricot.”

“Oh. Thank you,” she said, and meant it. She took a long drink to clear her mind and try to wash out the sudden close, brimming feeling in her chest and throat and wondered--not for the first time today--how long she had been aethergazing while lost in her own head. She also worried that this was apparently becoming a pattern.

“This is your first time here.” It wasn’t a question.

Yenna’s ears swung backward a little. “Is it that obvious?”

“Yes,” he said, but his words didn’t hold any judgement. “It’s no cause for concern. You’ll find that you get used to it rather quickly with repeated exposure.” He waved a willowy hand, and the server reappeared at their table to deposit a basket of spiral breads with nuts and honey and cinnamon rolled into them. Wordlessly, he indicated that she should take one, and at that exact moment the smell hit her and she realized how hungry she was. With as much neatness and restraint as she could muster, Yenna obligingly helped herself to one of the sticky whorls of pastry. It was buttery and liberally filled with some kind of luscious cream-syrup, still warm from an oven and crackly on the outside while cloud-soft on the inside. 

The noise she made when she bit into it was both happy, and very much involuntary.

Vai Rayaz gave a small smile and selected a roll for himself. “The house specialty. Rumored to be enchanted, although I have it on good authority that it’s actually an alchemical component they mix into the dough. Trade secret, of course.” He tapped a finger to his nose conspiratorially, then took a bite.

“Thank you...again,” Yenna said, indicating the juice as well as the bread. “It’s all very good. I can cover my part, I have some coin-”

He held up a hand, stopping her. “I won’t hear of it,” he said firmly. “Entertaining a friend of Aster’s is a happy service--the least I can do is provide some sustenance like a proper host.” He raised an eyebrow. “Newcomers aren’t accustomed to the constant furor, it’s rather easy to lose track of time and forget when you’ve last had something to eat, or drank anything nonalcoholic.”

Yenna thought about it for a moment, and realized that no, she really didn’t know how long she’d been here. Everything that had happened since they arrived was a loud, colorful blur. “I suppose it has been a little overwhelming. It’s nice though,” she said quickly. “This place is fantastic, really, and I’ve been having a wonderful time with everyone. They’re all so…”  _ Boisterous? Chaotic? Really, really interested in talking to me?  _ “Friendly,” she finished, choosing to err on the side of politeness. 

It was clear he was reading her thoughts like a telepath. “I know they can be a bit unruly, but they generally mean well--even if they struggle to temper their behavior for those with less aggressively outgoing dispositions. Performers and company form their own little culture, of sorts, and we do our best to support one another.” Although his expression barely changed, he somehow managed to convey the distinct impression of a smile as he took a bite of spiral bread. “Even if the support is a little overpowering at times.”

She returned the smile, feeling soothed by his demeanor. On impulse, she tuned her peripheral attention to the worldsong--listening just to her immediate surroundings, well aware that the harmonies of The Fiddlehead at large would probably feel like a blow to the head--and picked up Vai Rayaz’s thread in the grand song: the sound of shimmering lights, subdued but precise, and careful adjustments of infinitely fine components of metal and magic with impossibly delicate instruments, and a constant cool bell-tone resonating beneath it all. Serene, stable, focused...not too dissimilar from Aster, really, and almost as relaxing.

“Forgive me if I’m assuming too much,” she ventured, “but how are you involved with all of this? You seem very, um,  _ calm _ for this crowd.”

He dipped his head, claiming her words as a compliment. “Thank you. And I am involved in an ancillary capacity--I work backstage as a specialist freelancer for a number of the performers here.”

Yenna glanced at the Izzet crest etched into his metal cuffs. “Do you do that through your guild?”

Another implied smile. “No. This is just moonlighting. My position in the Izzet is Guildmage Eximias in applied photoarcanics.”

Yenna took a long drink of her juice to buy time while she considered the jumble of words. Finally, she ventured, “So...you work with light magics?”

“Correct,” he said with a nod, in a way that reminded her of her tutor in the Selesnya. “Specifically, I am involved in research, engineering, and design on various artifice that utilize principles of aether-light conversion. But in layman’s terms, yes, light magics.”

“And that’s what you do here, for all the musicians and theater troupes,” she concluded, feeling pleased with herself for figuring it out. “You do advanced lighting stuff for them.”

“Very astute,” he said approvingly. “I create magical light displays and illusory projections to accompany the shows. I’m afraid I have neither the inclination nor the talent for any kind of performance art, but I do enjoy making my contribution to the endeavor.”

“Well, what you’re doing sounds like an art of its own--as much as my music is, at least,” Yenna insisted. “I mean, I’m sure that you’ve studied and practiced for a long time, and it’s a creative process that’s there to make specific emotions for an audience. Plus, it’s obviously some kind of personal expression for you.” She smiled broadly at him. “Ergo, art.”

He blinked, asynchronous, with one eye closing slightly before the other. Then to her surprise, he gave her an actual smile of his own, as rare for a vedalken as seeing both Ravnican moons. 

“You are a very kind young lady,” he said warmly. “I see why Aster enjoys your company.” 

“Oh, me too.”

Yenna’s head whipped around at the sound of a new, unfamiliar voice appearing suddenly behind her right shoulder. Across the table, she heard an almost imperceptibly quiet groan from Vai Rayaz.

Standing behind her was a very short woman--if they’d been face to face, she would have been staring at Yenna’s stomach. Her skin was a burnished rust-red; her eyes were the color of copper coins and unearthly bright. Black hair was braided into an array of countless thin, neat braids that framed her face and brushed over her shoulders like the branches of the willow trees outside. Two small horns made of dark overlapping ridges rose from a crest in the center of her forehead to form a kind of V-shape over her eyes, embedded with corruscating blood-red gemstones. She was so striking that it took a moment before Yenna noticed her clothing, which was a thin, skin-tight affair of black leather accented with red silk, and could have been called revealing by a very diplomatic observer. Kneeling on the mat, Yenna found herself at eye-level with the woman’s cleavage--her breasts were small, but she more than made up for it by how prominently they were displayed--and was so taken aback that she simply froze, her nose inches from a jet-and-ruby sternum piercing. 

The only response Yenna could produce was a gulp.

The horned woman flashed a smile at Vai Rayaz, her teeth brilliant and slightly too sharp. “Aren’t you going to introduce me?” she said to him.

“Yenna, this ball of id is Keski,” Vai Rayaz said with a long sigh. “She’s an acrobat with a troupe from Kilncastle. Keski, this is Yenna Callavyr of the Conclave.”

“Aw, you’re a pip, Vai,” she chirped, settling herself down at the table between them without any further invitation.

“Kilncastle?” Yenna said, trying to be polite and not stare at...well, anything about the other woman. “That’s the big Rakdos neighborhood west of Ivereth, right?”

“Got it in one,” Keski said brightly. The heady scent of cinnamon and ash poured off her body; Yenna caught a quick burst in the worldsong of crackling fire and thunderous applause and the splash of falling sweat sizzling on hot stone. Keski turned to her, pinning her in place with eyes like candles. “I’m guessing you’ve never formally met an imp before?”

Not trusting herself to say anything, she merely nodded.

“Heh. Not a lot of imps hanging around your treehouses, eh? Well, it certainly pleases me to be the first,” Keski said, still smiling just a bit too widely. 

“So what brings you here?” Vai Rayaz asked placidly, though Yenna noted he had drained a significant portion of his beer in the short time she and Keski had been talking.

“Just got in from a show,” the imp said, gesturing theatrically for emphasis. “Fantastic crowd, rave response, standing ovation--the whole cart and horse. So then I headed here to celebrate, and what should catch my ears when I show up but a rumor that Aster brought a lady-friend around?” She reached across the table and grabbed a spiral bread, taking a huge bite. As she opened her mouth, Yenna noticed that her tongue had a small cleft in the tip, giving it a slight fork. Keski caught her staring and grinned. “Obviously, I had to come see if the rumors were true.”

“Um...yes?” Yenna said, finding the imp’s presence just a little intimidating.

“Actually-truly?” Keski shook her head with a chuckle. “Damn. Good for Aster and all, but I just lost a bet.” 

“This again,” Vai Rayaz muttered under his breath. Yenna looked at him, saw him make a small ‘don’t ask’ motion, but couldn’t help herself.

“What bet?” she asked.

Keski took another massive bite of her roll. “I bet Taroj from downstairs six felda that Aster wasn’t into girls.” Yenna was a little taken aback, both by the idea--which she hadn’t actually considered--and the impropriety of betting on it, but Keski had already turned to Vai Rayaz. “I suppose you’ll have an ‘I told you so’ to give me.”

The vedalken gave her a flat look. “What I primarily told you was to not make that bet in the first place, because it was juvenile and asinine.” He took a sip of his beer, which was nearly gone. “But yes, I did tell you so.”

“Must be disappointing for you,” Keski said suggestively.

“Aster is a fine person and a good friend,” Vai Rayaz said, unperturbed. “But in addition to not being into men, he’s also not my type.”

“Mmm, right. I hear you’re looking for someone burlier and hairier...dare I say, more _bullheaded_?” she said, raising an eyebrow. “Minotaurs are très risqué. Obviously I approve.” 

With very little change to his facial expression, the blue man managed to convey a withering glare. “First of all, your approval is not something I’m proud of. Second...” He turned to Yenna, who was unused to hearing any conversation this blunt, and was mutely following along with a stunned expression. “Please, try to ignore her vulgarity. Keski is going through one of her bouts of monogamy right now, and it makes her unduly interested and unduly salacious about other people’s romantic involvements.”

“Just making up for lost hedonism,” Keski said cheerfully, popping the last of the sticky bread into her mouth. Then, to Yenna’s horror, the scantily-clad imp turned to her. “So, you and Aster, huh? Where in the world did he find you, some sort of adorableness bazaar?”

Yenna knew she was being teased, but didn’t have her feet under her enough to do anything but respond honestly and try to catch up. “The Sumala Fair. We were both performing at the debut stage, and we met before the show.”

“You know, I’d heard that Sumala went really well for him.” Keski looked over at Yenna, a sly smile on her lips. “I guess I didn’t know how well.”

“They’ve got a duet performance at the Azorius Annual Banquet,” Vai Rayaz interjected, causing Yenna to shoot him a look of gratitude for steering the conversation back into safe territory. He looked at her with a small nod. “Very prestigious. Congratulations are in order for both of you.”

“Thank you,” Yenna said, tilting her head in acknowledgement. “It’s a huge honor--we’re both really excited. Or I’m excited; I think Aster is. I’m pretty sure anyway.”

“You sound super confident,” Keski said dryly.

_ So, I’m not fooling anyone. That figures.  _ Although, these people seemed to be Aster’s friends--Vai Rayaz was, at least, and clearly Keski knew him well enough to be somewhat involved in his social life. Maybe she shouldn’t  _ try _ to fool them at all...it clearly wasn’t working, and perhaps plain honesty would produce some advice.

“It’s just…” She bit her lower lip. “All night he’s been trying to give me all the credit, like I’m the only one who did anything. I know they got in touch with me first, but it’s only luck that they happened to ask my Maestra, instead of someone who would have pointed them to Aster. I mean, he’s at least as good a musician as I am, or they would never have agreed to put him on the bill. And I told him that--several times, actually--but...” She sighed. “I guess I’m just worried that he feels like this is a handout...like he doesn’t deserve it.”

“Ah, Aster likes to undersell himself,” Keski said with a wave of her hand, which Yenna noticed had pronounced claw-like nails the color of onyx . “He’s just kind of like that. I mean, look at him--that’s the face of a sad little boy who desperately needs to be told that he did good.”

Vai Rayaz frowned. “You’re talking about an adult, you know.” Then he relented a little with a resigned sigh.”But her assessment isn’t entirely incorrect. Infantilizing--” he gave Keski a pointed look “--but not incorrect. Aster tends not to give himself enough credit.”

On one hand, it was good to know it wasn’t just her or something she’d done. On the other, that didn’t exactly resolve the issue.

“But... _ why _ ?” Yenna asked, feeling a little helpless. “He’s smart, he’s a really talented musician, and he’s  _ so _ nice…”

Keski looked at her from the side of her eyes. “Because he doesn’t really think he can trust anything good that happens.” 

Yenna looked at the red-skinned woman but Keski didn’t look back at her, instead reaching across the table and nonchalantly sorting through the bread basket to select another roll. She saw that Vai Rayaz was also looking at Keski, his lips pursed in disapproval.

“That’s a bit personal, wouldn’t you say?”

Keski shrugged and stared back at him over her spiral bread. “She asked.”

“Regardless,” he said, turning back to Yenna after another moment of silent reproach for the imp, “you shouldn’t think Aster downplaying his accomplishments has anything to do with you or what you did. I know for a fact that he was touched that you requested him. You’re clearly a supportive partner.”

_ Partner.  _ Her brain hitched a little on the word.

“He means you’re not letting Aster weasel out of his due share of praise,” Keski put in, interrupting her thinking.

“I mean that you seem to be very positive and encouraging,” Vai Rayaz continued smoothly, “and perhaps that will be a good influence on him. It certainly can’t hurt.”

“I hope so. I just want him to be happy about this show.” Yenna wrinkled her nose in self-deprecation. “Although I think you’re giving me too much credit. I can barely seem to get a sentence together today, let alone provide anything like words of wisdom.”

“Now who’s downplaying themselves?” Keski said through a mouthful of bread.

“Nonsense,” Vai Rayaz said firmly. “You’ve been lovely company.”

Yenna was flattered, but hardly convinced. “If you say so. I feel like I’ve just been stumbling through conversations all night; I hardly have any idea what I’ve said to anyone, but I’m pretty sure it’s just been a lot of babbling. I like people, I really do--I just get kind of awkward around big groups. And everyone else here just seems so  _ comfortable _ with it, and they’re all really outgoing and charming…I’m not sure how well I’m measuring up to The Fiddlehead standard.” She gave a wry little smile. "I’m sure the people Aster usually brings around are much more charismatic. Or at least able to answer basic questions without sounding like a dunce.”

Keski and Vai Rayaz exchanged a loaded look. 

“What did I say?” Yenna asked, confused.

“Keski,” Vai Rayaz said warningly.

“Oh, you know I’m going to tell her,” she replied. The imp was smiling like a fox in a chicken coop.

Yenna frowned. “Tell me what?”

The vedalken was clearly about to protest, but Keski answered before he could get anything out. “Aster’s never brought anyone here before.”

As if conjured out of nowhere, a solid lump of emotions was abruptly lodged in Yenna’s throat. For a second, it felt like everything, heart, lungs, all of it, had been brought to a halt. She swallowed hard to force it all down, but the lump seemed to just bobble in her chest, wedging itself under her collarbone and making it difficult to breathe. 

“I’m…” She took a sip of her juice, her mouth suddenly dry, and tried frantically to act casual. “I’m the first, then?”

“First, only.” Keski was still grinning like a fiend. “It’s just you.”

She managed to choke out a small, “Oh.”

_ I’m the first,  _ she thought, breathless.  _ I’m the first. That’s good, right? It has to be...unless he’s taking girls he likes somewhere else and that’s why no one sees them here. But what-- _

_Stop it stop it stop it!_ she yelled at herself, wishing she could grab hold of her mind and just shake it until it went back to normal. Goddess, what was _wrong_ with her? Her normal level of spazzing when stressed or excited was bad enough, but this was a new high, or a new low, or just the most whatever it was. She felt like she was going completely insane, probably looked completely insane, and her mind felt like a jar containing a swarm of bees. _Why can’t I keep it together--what is going on with my head?!_

“Wow.” Keski’s voice momentarily yanked Yenna back to the outside world, her smile now so broad her face could barely contain it. “Look at you; you are just besotted with this boy. This is absolutely precious, and I mean that as sincerely as I mean anything.”

Vai Rayaz took another heartbeat glaring daggers at the small woman before reaching out and touching Yenna lightly on the shoulder. Yenna’s attention snapped to him, wide-eyed. He raised his hands palm up in front of his chest, lifting them and then pressing them down in a slow pantomime of breathing. Following his indication automatically, she forced herself to take a few deep, stabilizing breaths.

“Um. Okay.” She did her best to steady herself, even though she could hear her heartbeat pounding just behind the hinge of her jaw. “You guys are his friends. What--what do you think that means?”

Without hesitation, Keski said in a singsong voice, “It means that Aster likes you.”

“It means that Aster is a discerning judge of character, and that you are a very nice young lady,  _ who does not deserve to be teased _ ,” Vai Rayaz said, coolly aiming the last bit at Keski.

“Who’s teasing?” Keski replied. “I said I was being sincere, and I meant it.” She leaned toward Yenna conspiratorially. “It  _ definitely _ does mean that he likes you. Like, actually-truly likes you...not in a ‘taking a ride below the crupper and sneaking off right after because he has this thing early tomorrow’ kind of way.” 

Yenna and Vai Rayaz both stared, Yenna in complete bewilderment, Vai Rayaz in muted yet still obvious disgust. Keski paused, sweet roll halfway to her mouth.

“What?” She held up her hands in a gesture of innocence, the message only somewhat hampered by the sticky bread still in her grip, somewhat more hampered by everything else about her. “I didn’t say he  _ would _ do that; I was just clarifying. Demon’s tits Vai, don’t pop your monocle,” she chided the blue man, taking another enormous bite. 

“Keski,” he said slowly, “if you’re going to be tactless, then I’m going to ask you to leave.”

“Oh, come  _ on _ ,” she said around a mouthful of sweet bread. “I’m taking a candid interest in someone’s relationship; just because I don’t screen it behind thirty different layers of propriety-”

Vai Rayaz cut her off, his voice unyielding as steel. “You’re trying to make Yenna uncomfortable to amuse yourself, which is in poor taste. So if you’re going to continue being provocative, you’ll do it elsewhere.” He raised his eyebrows at her in a way that clearly indicated he was not accepting arguments.

They held each other’s gaze for a few tense seconds--but a moment later, Keski broke eye contact. “Fine,” she conceded, sulky. “If it’s going to tie your guts in such a knot, I’ll put on the kid gloves. You can be a real killjoy, you know.”

“And you can be extremely uncouth when you’re going through these monogamous stints,” he said, draining the last of his beer and setting the glass on the table with a punctuating clack. “You really need a hobby to occupy yourself while you’re being exclusive.”

“What do you think I was doing?” the imp muttered.

The picture of dignity, Vai Rayaz declined to respond to that. Instead, he turned back to Yenna, who had watched the whole thing with the shocked fascination of someone seeing a collision between two Izzet steam chargers. She shook her head a little to clear it, refocusing on the vedalken. His face was tranquil once again, yet somehow sympathetic--Yenna was still amazed at how much he could convey with such understated expressions. 

“There is nothing to be worked up about,” he said calmly. “There’s nothing you need to change, or analyze, or do, or not do. You just have to take a breath, and give it some time. Let things unfold how they will.” 

“But I…” She searched for the words, making frustrated gestures with her hands as if she could grab all her disparate thoughts out of the air and physically sort them into place. Her ideas started tumbling out in a disorganized rush. “Everything feels so confusing all of a sudden, and every single thing that happens just creates all these questions and I don’t know the answers to any of them, and I’m scattered to the wind and I barely know what I’m saying, and I  _ really _ don’t know what I’m doing, and the whole thing is making me feel crazy and it’s making me act crazy and I can’t imagine he’s going to line up for that-”

“Whoa there, pull the reins, friendo,” Keski said, her expression somewhere between mildly taken aback and mildly impressed. 

Yenna clamped her mouth shut on the torrent of words. Vai Rayaz glanced at Keski, but seemed to accept her interjection as suitably restrained. Yenna was just thankful that someone stopped her before it got worse and something more embarrassing escaped from her brain. 

_ What managed to get out was plenty embarrassing on its own without me dumping any more on the pile.  _

“Listen,” Vai Rayaz continued. His tone was gentle, like someone soothing a frightened animal. She wished she was in a better state to appreciate the effort. “When you two are spending time together...are you happy?” 

“Yes,” she answered quietly. She knew that much was true, at least.

“Then just let it be,” he advised. “You and Aster are both fine people with good hearts--I’m sure things between you two are as they should be, and nothing you need to worry about, or worry at.” Yenna listened in silent consideration, and Vai Rayaz reached across the table and patted her hand with long, light fingers. “Just let yourself enjoy things the way they are,” he said, reassuringly.

But despite his serene voice and his confidence and how nice his words sounded, somehow, Yenna didn’t feel very reassured. She  _ was _ happy when she was with Aster--but there was more to it, more that she wanted, and right now her happiness was just making her more worried about messing it up.

Unaware of her thoughts spiraling down into the maelstrom, Vai Rayaz looked down at his empty beer glass, then back at the two women. “I’m going to see if Goldran has any Kimerian Ale tucked away somewhere. I’ll be back in a moment.” He stood up, a process that looked somewhat like a praying mantis unfolding its forelegs, and brushed his long blue-and-red overcoat to smooth out the rumpled spots. He pointed at Keski. “Be nice.”

She gave him a mocking Boros salute, fist to chest. “On my best behavior, sir!” 

He made the sound a frown would make if it were a noise, then nodded and walked away over to the bar. Both Yenna and Keski watched his back as he struck up a conversation with the Simic goblin behind the bar, presumably the aforementioned Goldran. As soon as they saw him start talking, Yenna turned to the imp.

“Please tell me you have a second opinion,” she whispered, glancing furtively over her shoulder and wondering how much time they had.

“First of all, there’s no rush,” Keski said, following her gaze. “Vai and Goldran have been in the middle of this ongoing discussion about using some sort of bioluminescence breeding tank as an artifice fuel cell for the past two weeks; there’s no way he’s making it back here in less than fifteen minutes. Second…” She gave Yenna a deceptively mild look. “I’d certainly be willing to help you out, but you heard what Vai said--I wouldn’t want to make you  _ uncomfortable _ .”

Yenna swallowed hard, her ears dropping back with worry. But now was no time to get cold feet, and it seemed like if anyone had her answers, this was the person.

“Like you said, that was Vai Rayaz talking,” Yenna said slowly. “Not me. I didn’t say I was uncomfortable. I mean, maybe a little, but…” She bit her lip, then pressed on. “Honestly, I was already uncomfortable. I’m uncomfortable now, and it’s not because of you. Mostly. It’s because I feel like I’m losing my mind trying to understand...this,” she finished helplessly, gesturing weakly at everything and nothing. “The whole thing is just way outside my comfort zone. Vai Rayaz is really nice, but he’s trying to help me calm down and let it go. I don’t want to do either of those things; I want some expert advice. And you seem like an expert on--well, you know.” 

Keski’s chuckle said that yes, she very much was. Yenna squared her shoulders and took a deep breath, resolute. “I want you to be…”  _ What was the word she had used? Oh yes.  _ “ _ Candid _ with me.”

The imp gave her an approving clap on the shoulder, her hand as warm as an oven stone. “There you go, Baby Conclave--finally showing a little spirit! So, do you want the whole treatment?”

Yenna hesitated, then nodded emphatically.

The imp grinned, showing all her teeth, and leaned in so that her face was just a little too close. The charred smell of her rushed into Yenna’s nose, hot and sweet-spiced. “Spectacular,” she said slowly, as if she found the word particularly delicious. “So you want to go forward with Aster, huh? Seems doable--how far have you gotten?”

“Um,” Yenna said, her ears laying out even further to the sides.

“So, nowhere. You know what, that’s fine; it’s easier to go from a clean slate anyway. Then you just have to start right and things will fall into place.”

“Okay,” she said slowly. She was still a little lost, but it at least sounded like Keski was coming up with a plan. Then she had a thought. ”Wait, do you mean relationship things, or...um,  _ physical _ things?”

“I’m going to go out on a limb and say you’re looking for both,” Keski drawled, “and I’m going to hang a little hammock from that limb that says you haven’t done either before.”

“Not really,” she muttered, feeling the heat spread across her cheeks. 

“Hey, no worries.” She gave Yenna’s shoulder a cheerful squeeze, surprisingly strong for such a small person. “We’re going to let this rest with Aster; you’re not going to have to do anything but hand it over to him.” 

“I--really?” Yenna frowned. That sounded a little  _ too _ easy; she was struggling to imagine a situation that neatly went from where she was to a resolution while completely bridging the tangled skein of craziness stuffed into her head right now.  _ Still, she seems pretty certain.  _ “How do I do that?”

“First of all.” Keski waved at a server and made a quick sequence of hand gestures, causing the woman to veer off behind the bar. “We need to make some preparations to smooth out this process for you.” 

“Oh, I don’t really drink; it all tastes too strong for me-”

“Then this will be perfect for you; it tastes like drinking Winterfaire Candy.”

As she spoke, the server reappeared as if summoned by magic and plunked a glass down in front of Yenna. The liquid inside was a translucent indigo, crowded with crinkling bubbles that rushed up into a head of lavender foam. She stared at it, alarmed. The intense fizzing made it sound like a snake hissing at her, like it was warning her not to drink it.

“What is  _ that _ ?”

“That,” Keski said, sliding the glass toward her, “is an Izzet-Fizzet. And once you can see the bottom of that glass, you’re going to feel much better about this whole thing.”

Yenna looked at her sidelong, uncertain.

“Trust me,” the imp said firmly.

Still dubious, Yenna picked up the glass and took a tiny, exploratory sip. The first thing that happened was a tidal bore of bubbles rushed up the back of her nose, making it prickle like a sleeping limb and causing her to sneeze convulsively. It was only when she recovered that the taste actually hit her.

“Goddess, it does taste like Winterfaire Candy,” she said, staring at it in amazement. She took another sip, just to check, then another to be sure. “You were right; this is delicious! Does this even have any alcohol in it?”

Keski shrugged. “A bit,” she said offhandedly.

_ Must not be very much; I can hardly taste it, _ she thought as she helped herself to another long drink from the glass. She was even starting to enjoy the feeling of the bubbles bursting in her mouth and nose…

“Atta girl,” the red woman said with beaming approval. “Now then--here’s what you do.”

Yenna leaned in, paying nearly complete attention--she kept just a bit to spare for the Izzet-Fizzet which, despite its worrying color, really was extremely tasty.

“So when you’re ready to leave tonight, all you have to do is put your hand on his like so.” She demonstrated, placing her summer-hot fingers over Yenna’s and lightly stroking the skin on the back of her hand, tracing the long valleys between the bones in a way that made Yenna feel strangely discomfited. “And then you lean over,” she continued, doing so until the centaur could feel warm breath blowing against the curve of her ear as her voice dropped to a low purr, “and you say: do you want to go back to your place?”

Yenna waited, a little rattled by Keski’s closeness and trying intently to focus as she listened for the next part. But there was no next part. And then the first part caught up with her.

“Wait, what?” She pulled back so she could look Keski in the eye and see if the smaller woman was joking. The feline smile and half-lidded eyes said otherwise. “Are you serious? That’s crazier than what I’m doing right now; I can’t...” Yenna took another drink, flustered. 

“Why not?” Keski asked mildly. 

As the idea sank in further, her blush redoubled itself, covering her face and pouring down over her chest. “Because, I don’t know how to--what am I supposed to do when we get to his place?!” she blurted in agitated whisper.

“You just follow his lead. Look, it’s like dancing, very instinctive--he’s the more experienced partner, so you take your cues from him and do what feels good. If something doesn’t feel good, just tell him to stop.” She looked up at the ceiling, thinking. After a moment, she added, “Normally this is where I’d tell you that if he doesn’t stop you pop him good in the nose, but Aster’s a sweet boy--he’s not the type to get pushy. You’ll be fine.”

“I’ll be fine?” Yenna half-laughed, incredulous. “ _ I don’t know what I’m doing. _ ”

“Aww, sweet little Baby Conclave,” Keski said, her voice a mix of patronizing and genuine sympathy as she reached out and put a heated arm around Yenna’s shoulders, pulling the centaur close. “No one knows what they’re doing the first time, or even the first dozen times. And yet they all seem to manage. Demon’s tits, even Vai pulls his minotaur bullgoons, and he has all the fiery animal eroticism of a bowl of vanilla ice cream. Look, do you understand where everything goes?”

“Yes, I understand where everything goes,” Yenna snapped, pulling away from her and taking an irritated sip of the Izzet-Fizzet. “I’m a trained healer; I’m not confused about the basic process.” Actually, she was just a little confused about the basic process--specifically, the parts concerning proper arrangement of a human and a centaur--but she dreaded how graphic _ that _ conversation might get and chose not to mention it.

“Well, then you’re all set,” Keski responded, as if she had just pointed out the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m telling you: it’s easy. Just let Aster take care of everything.”

_ No. No, this is not a viable idea,  _ she thought.  _ I don’t...I can’t…I mean I  _ could _ , but I definitely shouldn’t...right? Everything feels weird, sure, but there’s no way  _ this _ can make it better, and it’s probably going to make it worse. I have no idea how Keski even thinks this could possibly work...  _

She clearly did think it would work though--in fact her confidence was eroding Yenna’s own certainty. Maybe she knew something Yenna didn’t? She did seem very experienced in this whole area of interaction...

Yenna shook her head.  _ I’m just going to have to tell her that I can’t do it. Maybe she’ll have another plan, but this just isn’t for me. _

Instead she heard herself say, “What if he says no?” She couldn’t believe she was asking that question, as if she were actually starting to entertain this idea.

“He won’t,” Keski stated matter-of-factly. “Trust me, men never say no to this.”

Yenna looked down at her glass, tracks of pale purple sliding down the inside of the glass, which was emptier than she felt like it should have been. In the face of Keski’s surety, her resistance was becoming softer, permeable. “What if I do this, and he thinks I just wanted-” She stopped, not really comfortable finishing the thought.

“That you were just looking to fuck him?” 

She winced--apparently Keski was very comfortable finishing it for her. And she wouldn’t have put it in such a crude way, but it wasn’t wrong. “Yeah,” she mumbled, watching the bubbles climb upward in her remaining drink. “That.”

Even without turning, Yenna felt Keski watching her with those fire-bright eyes. “ _ Is _ that what you want?” 

“What? No! I mean, yes--maybe--I don’t know. But not  _ just _ that, not even  _ mostly _ that, I-” Yenna stopped, feeling like her words were slipping out of her control. Her head felt strange, like everything was moving slightly; she pressed her eyes shut, trying to say what she meant. “I like him,” she said, forcing herself to speak slowly, to choose the right thing to say. “I really like him. And I want to know if he likes me back--I hope he does. I want him to. And I think...I think I want us to be together. I don’t exactly know what that would mean, but that’s what I want.” She took a breath. “I want him to be happy with me like I’m happy with him.”

Keski was still watching her, but her expression had changed to something Yenna didn’t recognize. To her surprise, the imp reached out and, very gently, petted her cheek like someone might do to show affection to a small child. “Oh you sweet thing,” she said quietly. “You really are a dove*, aren’t you?” Her hand lingered a moment more--and then she withdrew, and the moment had passed. Back to her old self, she said flatly, “I’m pretty sure he’s not going to think you were just chasing his dick. Call it a hunch, but you don’t really give off that impression. Besides, he’s a good boy, very old-fashioned at heart--after you guys wear each other out a little, there’ll be a talk, and the relationship will basically get moving on its own.”

“But…” Yenna frowned, finding it somewhat difficult to concentrate. “Shouldn’t I just talk to him  _ first _ ?” She went to take a drink and discovered, to her chagrin, that the delightful Izzet-Fizzet was almost gone. 

“Uh-uh,” Keski said, shaking her head, “you’re trying to put the cart before the stripey lovestruck horse. I know it seems counterintuitive, but think about it: you’ve got a bunch of really confusing feelings now, right?” 

Yenna nodded, thinking how perceptive Keski was--she  _ did _ have so many confusing feelings; too many, honestly. 

“And you’d like to stop having so many, and for them to be less confusing, right?”

Yenna nodded again, impressed.  _ It’s like she’s reading my mind.  _

“Okay. You’re new to this, so you may not know it, but a bunch of that craziness is because you want to sleep with him and the urges are messing with your head.”

“That doesn’t sound right,” Yenna said, shaking her head, although she wondered.

“Oh really?” Keski crossed her arms in challenge. “You have a kind of tight feeling in your stomach? Your face feels too hot? You feel sort of thirsty, but taking a drink doesn’t help? You think about him and you can feel your heart beating in your throat? All of that, right?”

Yenna stared, wide-eyed. “Are you...are you a mind mage?” she whispered.

“What? No.” Keski raised her eyebrows at the empty glass in front of Yenna. “Slag and char, it’s a good thing you only had one of those. Now pay attention.”

Yenna met her eyes, trying her best to do so. 

“Like I said, all of that is because you want to sleep with him. If you do that first, those urges will be all topped off, and a bunch of the weirdness will just go away because you won’t have to worry about the sexual tension. You see?” Keski squeezed her hand; Yenna found herself taking hold of it and returning her hold instinctively. “And then,” she said, like an advokist delivering a final argument, “you can have a nice conversation about your relationship going forward, without any of that messy stuff confusing things and bogging them down. Get it?”

“I...think so, yeah,” Yenna said, her brow furrowed. Something about that logic still seemed off, somehow, but it seemed to make sense when Keski said it, and the way she put it just seemed so  _ certain _ . The idea made her feel out of sorts, but she had depleted her list of coherent objections, and was just left with a lingering discomfort. Maybe it was just irrational. But... “I just feel a little strange about it.”

“Ah, that’s just nerves,” Keski said brightly. “Trust me Baby Conclave, if you ask him to take you home, this will all be taken care of by morning.”

It still didn’t quite feel right--but maybe Keski had a point. Maybe Yenna just needed to trust someone with more experience. She looked down at the imp’s small red hand still held in her brown one. 

“This actually works, right?” she asked slowly. “It’s going to be okay?”

Keski leaned over and pressed Yenna’s hand between both of hers. “It’s going to be great,” she said with a knowing look that was only slightly inappropriate. Then the other woman’s gaze shifted to something over the centaur’s shoulder. “And that’s our fifteen minutes,” she said crisply. Quickly and quietly, Keski reached over and slid the empty Izzet-Fizzet glass in front of herself while moving the glass of juice back to its original spot in front of Yenna, settling back into her seat just as Vai Rayaz walked up to the table.

“Did he have the Kimerian Ale?” she asked sweetly, before Yenna’s brain had quite caught up with what happened.

Vai Rayaz held up a quart bottle of molasses-colored liquid, looking pleased as he smoothly folded himself back to the ground, delicately arranging his robe. “I knew Goldran was keeping a few of these set aside,” he said with a tinge of satisfaction. He took hold of the stopper--Yenna saw the muscles in his hands flex and tighten--and pulled it loose with his bare hand. She wondered if it was all the years of working with artifice and machinery that gave him that kind of grip. She wondered why she was staring at his hand so much. Had she been staring? She wasn’t sure. Vai Rayaz was talking; she attempted to focus on what he was saying.

“...finally come to an agreement on the zooplankton that would be best suited to produce bioluminescence for the converter cells,” he concluded. “He’s been insisting on aquatic  _ lampyridae _ for weeks now, but I convinced him--at long,  _ long _ last--that its light emissions are insufficient for our proposed design. The wavelength is much too long. We selected  _ pyrodinium _ as the superior choice, given its higher spectrum color.” He closed his eyes and took a contented sip of his ale. “Obviously.”

Yenna wasn’t sure if nothing he said made sense because of her swimming head, or because it was mad Izzet gibberish. 

_ Probably both.  _

“Well,” Keski said, placing her palms on the table and getting to her feet, “since you’re back to keep Miss Callavyr entertained, I’m afraid I have to head out. Mischief to commit, people to rattle, all that good stuff.” She leaned over to Yenna, who was experiencing a spike of fear at the idea that Keski was leaving so abruptly-- _ what if I have more questions?! _ \--and wrapped the centaur and a literal and figurative warm hug. “You can do it,” she breathed into Yenna’s large, round ears, much too quietly for Vai Rayaz to possibly hear. “And just relax--you’re going to have a great time.” She pulled back, standing up straight. 

“Vai--it’s been a trip, as usual.”

“Always an experience to see you, Keski,” he replied evenly, raising an eyebrow.

“Likewise.” She smiled at Yenna, shared secrets hidden in her coppery eyes. “Good luck to you and Aster with whatever you two turtledoves are doing.” She half turned as if to walk away, then glanced back over her shoulder. “Oh, and a word of advice? Stay out of Kilncastle--they’ll eat a sweet thing like you alive, heart first.” She winked, and gave a snappish wave of her hand. “Later.”

And then she was weaving away through the crowd.

“So what did you ladies talk about?”

Yenna blinked, and saw that Vai Rayaz was staring at her. “Oh, nothing much,” she dissembled lamely. “You know...girl stuff?” Somehow, she distinctly heard a question mark at the end of what she hoped would be a statement, and a slightly less stupid one at that. Inwardly, she groaned.

_ Keski had better be right that Aster will just take care of everything,  _ she thought grimly, her stomach doing little flip-flops,  _ because if I have to do any talking this whole plan is going to unravel.  _

Vai Rayaz was watching her, his yellow-green gaze acute. “You know,” he said carefully, “I recommend you take anything Keski says with a grain of salt. She tends to be...overly enthusiastic, especially about other people’s business.”

“Enthusiastic. Yeah.”

Vai Rayaz didn’t have to tell her. She’d been chewing on this idea with a substantial brick of salt ever since the initial suggestion. And it wasn’t like she didn’t have concerns. But then, it wasn’t like she had any better ideas either. She wanted everything to work out, wanted to take things forward with Aster, wanted to stop feeling like a mess. She had no idea how to do that. And, as extreme as it felt, Keski claimed that this plan would do that exactly. It made her feel disquieted, but the idea of being able to address all of her doubts and confusion simply, perfectly--well, it was hard to let go of. 

Maybe just going home with him really was the best way. Yenna wished Keski hadn’t left--she still felt like she needed more talking up, more support. On top of that, she also wished she had another Izzet-Fizzet. She was starting to suspect the drink might be responsible for her wobbly senses, but nonetheless, she felt like a little more might help her confidence. Because even with all of Keski’s convincing, even with how reasonable and neat and easy the imp made it all sound, Yenna did not feel nearly assured as she would have liked.

She talked with Vai Rayaz for a bit longer--she didn’t know how long, and couldn’t really recall what about. The vedalken continued to be a peaceful presence, but her mind was too busy thrashing around to appreciate it. He seemed to suspect something was up, but was too decorous to pry the answers out of her. She just hoped her responses were sufficiently polite and sufficiently vague. 

It was both much too soon and too long when Vai Rayaz looked up and said to someone behind her, “Did you talk to everyone you needed?”

“All taken care of.” 

Aster’s voice was just over her shoulder, and for a second she froze as she was overwhelmed with a wave of panic that if he saw her face, he would somehow know the entire stupid, crazy, implausible idea. She forced herself to take a deep breath and looked up at him.

He didn’t immediately point at her and say something accusing or start laughing. All he said was, “Sorry that took so long--I had some trouble tracking them down.” He held out a hand to her. “Ready to head out?”

She managed a smile. “Sure.” Too fast. _ No, I need more time!  _ But she was already on her feet, and they were saying their goodbyes to Vai Rayaz, and heading toward the walkway. Desperate, she looked back over her shoulder at Vai Rayaz. He made a pointed expression, lifted his hands to his chest, and pressed them gently back down.

_ Breathe. _

Unfortunately, that was something she didn’t think she could manage at the moment.

She followed Aster through the disjointed maze of the Fiddlehead’s jumbled rooms. Before, it had been a festive riot of noise and color. Now, deeply rattled, everything around her felt too loud and too garish, and too close, while also being muffled and unclear. People were everywhere, packed in like fish being pulled into a net, and with even a hint of the worldsong in the background, there were so many of them and they were all so worked up that they became a collective roar in her ears. Over the swirl of sounds and colors, she was conscious of her blood throbbing in her throat, and her skin prickled with heat. She clenched her hands tight at her sides, balling them into fists so her fingernails dug into her palms, trying to let the bite of it distract her. 

It did little good. As they moved deeper and lower through the complex, she felt the sudden need to be out of it, to be back in the cool night air. She found herself walking more quickly, her hooves clipping a sharp tempo on the floorboards. She could see open space now through gaps in the poles and hangings and endless bodies, and bore toward it with the fixation of a starving man moving toward a banquet table. Without noticing the steps between, she became aware that she was moving onto one of the decks, then down a walkway, and finally out onto the tussocked lawn rolled out to the edge of the marsh bed. 

Her hooves finally on grass again, Yenna came to a halt, trying to take in enough breaths uncluttered by the smell and closeness of people to loosen her chest. 

“Yenna, wait up!” Aster jogged up alongside her--she must have pulled ahead of him--and put a hand on her forearm. Her mind was so stirred already that for once, it barely rattled her. He looked at her, concern in his dark brown eyes. “Hey,” he said. “You kind of rushed out...is everything alright?”  
Yenna swallowed, nodded. Now that she had stopped her short dash, her head and body were touched with vertigo and felt like they were still drifting forward. It unsettled her stomach. “I’m fine,” she said, surreptitiously trying to steady herself. “I just needed some fresh air, is all.”

“Are you though?” he asked, his worry drawing a line between his brows. “Fine?”

She inhaled slowly and forced her face to make a smile. “Of course. I was thinking, and I got away from myself a little.”

“Thinking about what?” he asked. 

_ You can fix everything. _ All the strangeness, all the questions--what had Keski said?  _ This will all be taken care of by morning.  _ She glanced down. His hand still rested on her arm, his fingers pale against her tan skin in the flickering torchlight. His touch was warm, comforting. 

All the sounds beyond them faded into the background. She reached up, placed her hand over his. She lacked the courage or coherence to stroke the skin behind his knuckles as Keski had shown her, and instead just wove their fingers together, holding a bit more tightly than she had intended.

All the way up to the very last second, she wasn’t sure if she would go through with it.

“Do…” She paused, gulped, and continued. “Do you want to go back to your place?”

Aster would have looked less surprised if she’d confessed to being a Dimir agent. 

He blinked, very slowly. Then he squeezed his eyes shut, forehead creased and jaw muscles working slightly, turning his head to the side as if he had taken a bite of something, realized it was an unknown substance, and was trying to figure out what it was. When he looked back at her, he opened his mouth to speak, closed it, swallowed visibly, then tried again. This time, he managed to get words out.

“Um...no.”

The bottom dropped out of Yenna’s mind, and all her thoughts drained away in an instant. She was left with the detached realization that a person has after they’ve tripped but before they hit the ground:  _ Uh-oh. I messed up. I messed up really bad. _

The tightness in her chest dropped down into her belly, her guts locking into a cold knot. “Oh,” she said very softly, her voice sounding hollow in her ears. “I didn’t--I just thought you might want-”

“It’s not about what I want,” he said, his voice troubled. “It’s about you looking like you’re about to have a panic attack.” 

She saw an opening to try to scramble back up the slope, to salvage things. “I’m not panicking,” she insisted. But even to her, it sounded like she said it much too quickly. She tried to make the next words sound normal. “It’s just nerves; I want to, really.”

Very gently, he extricated his hand from hers, turned her hand palm-up, and prised her fingers back--revealing red, crescent-shaped divots where she had been digging her nails into the meat of her palm to try to keep herself steady. He looked down at her hand, then up to her face. She didn’t--couldn’t--meet his eyes.

“That’s not nerves. That’s genuine discomfort. And I’m not going to--” He stopped, pursed his lips. “We’re not going to start anything on that note.”

Feeling wretched, Yenna stood for a moment looking down at the marks on her hand while her head filled with the sound of her own accelerated breathing. Her emotions were amplified by the drink rolling in her head; unfortunately, it just made her want to cry. Her ears had fallen flat to her head, and stayed there.

“I didn’t mean to,” she said, unsure what exactly she didn’t mean to do while still being very certain that no, she hadn’t meant to do it.

“That’s the impression I’m getting,” Aster said seriously. “This doesn’t seem like you…” When she didn’t respond, he leaned over so her downcast gaze intersected with his. “Can I ask how many drinks you’ve had?”

“Not that many,” she mumbled, trying to resist the urge to look away from him. She felt like eye contact was the least she could do for plunging them both into this uncomfortable mire. She still barely managed it. “Two...no, three ciders. Oh, and Keski gave me an Izzet-Fizzet,” she added.

“Keski?” For a second he was clearly thrown off. Then his expression shifted in quick succession to realization and mounting irritation. “ _ Keski _ . Right. She pounced on you while I was downstairs, didn’t she?” 

Despite his obvious displeasure, his voice stayed surprisingly even, calm--enough that Yenna didn’t draw back from countering him. “She didn’t  _ pounce _ , she just...gave some suggestions,” she said, feeling the sudden need to shield Keski. His voice might have remained steady, but Aster looked as nettled as she’d ever seen him.

“Mmmm. By any chance, is she the one who suggested that you should sleep with me?”

Yenna hesitated, put off by his stormy expression and not wanting Keski to get blamed for something that had ultimately been her own decision. But finally she gave a slow nod. “I  _ did _ ask for her help,” she proffered weakly.

Aster either didn’t hear the explanation, or didn’t care.

“Keski, blackwaters damn you,” he growled to himself under his breath. After a moment of brooding he shook his head a little, seeming to refocus on her. “Alright. First of all,” he said, reaching for the canteen at his side, “you should drink some water. You’ll feel better.” Obediently, she took it from him and drank. The water was cool and refreshing--she was surprised to find how dry her mouth was--and it did something to settle her restless stomach. Unfortunately, it couldn’t make her feel better in the ways she cared about. She went to give it back to him, and he stopped her with a hand, indicating she should hang onto it. 

“Second, why don’t I go ahead and walk you home? Your home,” he clarified.

“Okay,” she said quietly, too embarrassed for anything but docile agreement.

He turned and headed back up the path into the thick stands of arrowwood, and, not knowing what else to do, Yenna followed him. They passed under layered tapestries of willow leaves, hanging above them like strings of ornaments reflecting the warm gold light of The Fiddlehead. As they left the hubbub behind and moved into the deeper shadows, she felt the quiet press in on them. Mind tumbling, she wasn’t sure what was worse: the raucous noise of The Fiddlehead, or being alone in the quiet with Aster after she’d blown this smoldering crater between them. Silent, she walked meekly alongside him, guilty and ashamed, and distressed at how angry she’d made him--his normally soft expression was roiling black, fixed straight ahead on the path, accented by an occasional slight twitch of his jaw as he grit his teeth. 

_ He’s never going to want to see me again.  _ The thought solidified, and sat in her mind like an anvil.  _ Not after tonight, not after this.  _ She looked at his face as he led her on. He wasn’t looking at her at all, just watching straight ahead with a brooding scowl.  _ So this is the last time I’m going to see him.  _

The thought made her choke up, her throat becoming hard and tight until it was physically painful. Tears started to well in her eyes--but she blinked them back forcefully, and took a long drink of water to loosen her voice. If this was it, he at least deserved a decent apology. She doubted it would make any difference, but that wasn’t the point; it was the right thing to do regardless, given how she’d upset him. Taking a final drink, she came to a stop, her hooves giving a little crunch on the scattered pebbles and last year’s leaves. He turned to look at her, askance, and she could see the ire still etched onto his face. It felt like a slap, and she recoiled a fraction. But she’d already known it would be painful. It didn’t change that she owed him an apology for causing so much distress.

She squared her shoulders and just hoped the tears would stay back until she was done.

“Aster, I…” She found that she couldn’t meet his gaze, and her eyes dropped down to her clasped hands. Tears overflowed their banks and started spilling down her cheeks.  _ Coward,  _ she thought. She hadn’t even made it three words. 

But she had started, and by the Blessed Roots of Vitu-Ghazi she was going to finish. She took a deep breath and plowed ahead.

“I wanted to say I’m sorry. For this. I had no idea it would make you feel this way; if I’d known I never would have said anything. I shouldn’t have said anything. I know it doesn’t help much now, but-” She swallowed a sharp-edged knot in her throat. “I just wanted you to know that I didn’t mean to do this. To upset you like this. And I’m sorry.”

There was a silence that seemed to go on forever, only punctuated by the faded sound of voices in the distance and the chirping of night insects.

“Yenna,” he said finally, “look at me.” Reluctantly, she did, although she was ashamed to meet his eyes with her stupid choices and stupid mistakes and stupid, stupid tears. But she did, and was surprised to see that he didn’t look mad anymore. All the anger had vanished and his face had returned to its normal quiet lines, now just somewhat unsure. “Do...do you think that I’m mad at  _ you _ ?”

Brows drawn in confusion, Yenna gave a shaky nod.

“I--no,” he said, sounding a little horrified now. “No, tides  _ no _ , I’m not--I would never-” Flustered, distressed, words seemed to fail him at that point. She looked at him helplessly, and she saw the same need on his face, the need to do something but not knowing what.

Suddenly he was up on his toes, pulling her close. The move was unexpected and her arms were caught up in front of her, pinned between her body and his as his arms wrapped tight around her back. Already a sloshing mess of emotions, her resistance faded to nothing; she practically melted against him, her hands pressed lightly against his chest and her face dropping into the crook of his shoulder. He leaned his cheek against her; it brushed the curve of her large, soft ear, his breath rustling the downy fur. It tickled, but she didn’t twitch. She didn’t dare move at all, but just stood very quietly, leaning in to him. She felt a few stray tears escape, trickling down the damp path on her cheek and then down his neck, off of her skin and onto his. 

He didn’t twitch either.

After a few breaths, he found his words again, warm in her ear. “It’s okay,” he said, soothing. “You and I, we’re okay. You didn’t do anything wrong...why would you think I was mad at you?”

Yenna sniffled. “Because I tried to get you to take me home and sleep with me,” she said, her voice muted as she spoke against his shoulder. 

“ _ Achla ah’crie* _ ,” he murmured, “why would I be mad about that?”

“It was the wrong thing to say. I shouldn’t have asked.” Somehow, she was finding this conversation much easier this way--the closeness between them and his tight hold on her were calming, and it was easier when she wasn’t literally face-to-face, without her embarrassment tripping her up and making everything come out wrong. She sighed and closed her eyes, breathing through her nose and drinking deep from the oceanic mineral-soap smell of his skin. 

“So you got a little drunk and said something embarrassing,” he said without any reproof. “So what? That’s nothing for anyone to be upset over. Tides, if you want to be relative about it, making an awkward pass at someone is basically a Fiddlehead hello and handshake.”

Yenna couldn’t help a small, wet-ish giggle in spite of her misery--which was actually receding the longer she stayed against him, as if the physical contact opened a path for some of her distress to bleed off like a spillway on a river. For a moment she just rested her forehead on his shoulder, letting his face tickle the slope of her ear while the excess of emotion slowly drained away. “Then why were you so upset?” she finally asked.

He made a low, irritated noise that bubbled up through his chest. “I’m  _ upset _ at Keski for getting into your head and stomping around in there with her filthy feet and messing the place up,” he said. “Situation depending, I may even be a little pissed at Vai Rayaz for not stepping in to stop it.” 

He was clearly still riled up over it, but this time he rubbed her back a little, an affirmation that he wasn’t mad at  _ her _ . Yenna sank into it, reassured. And very aware of the small paths and shapes his fingers traced along her back, although that seemed to be something else entirely. She resolved to put it aside for the moment.

It wasn’t easy, but she did her best.

“Vai Rayaz tried,” she told him in the vedalken’s defense. “Keski waited until he left the table. But she really did only give me advice because I asked.”

He made an incredulous noise. “You mentioned that. But...why? Why  _ Keski _ of all people? I’m sure you noticed that her tastes are kind of--extreme.”

“I don’t know. Maybe that’s the reason. Vai Rayaz wasn’t much help, and she just seemed like she knew a lot about...like she was really experienced.”

“Blackwaters damn it--how many people were involved in this conversation?” he asked with a resigned sigh.

“Just the three of us. Vai Rayaz only said something because Keski kind of brought it up.”

Aster was quiet for a moment; in the background of the worldsong she heard the ethereal noise he always made when he was thinking, the sound of someone reading a parchment page of old, faded text by candlelight. 

“Did she bring up that stupid bet?” he finally said, deadpan.

“Yes,” Yenna conceded. “Well, that’s how it started anyway. And then we were talking--about you and me--and Vai Rayaz said to just not do or say anything, and that didn’t feel right, so I asked Keski, and she said if I just slept with you that you would take care of everything and it would all work out, and that didn’t feel great either, but it was something, and I didn’t really know what else I was supposed to do-”

“Okay, okay, it’s alright,” Aster said, making a comforting  _ shushing _ noise. “I understand.” He reached up, tentative, then stroked her hair a little. “But you should know they left out some important context.”

Snuffling a little and gratefully allowing herself to be calmed, she asked into his shirt, “Like what?”

He took a deep breath. “Well,” he said slowly, “did Vai Rayaz mention that he doesn’t actually date--he just does one-night stands because he’s so married to his work?”

“Um...no,” Yenna said. “But I did know that Keski is in a relationship right now, having a-”

“-Bout of monogamy,” Aster said simultaneously. “Yeah, I’d heard that too--it’s a bit of a Fiddlehead joke. Did she happen to tell you that her current girlfriend is a professional dominatrix from LowLance? Or that the man she was dating before that was a specialist in erotic acupuncture?”

“No, no I definitely would have remembered all that,” Yenna said, off balance. She made a mental note to have someone explain erotic acupuncture to her. “That...makes things a little different.”

“Just a touch, yes.”

“Like maybe they aren’t going to have advice that exactly applies here. To you and me.” 

“Mmmm. Maybe not.”

“And maybe-” Yenna paused. “Maybe,” she continued, “I should have just talked to you.”

“You can, you know.” His voice was soft on the delicate fur of her ear. “You always can. I’m not going to hurt you, and I’m never going to be mad at you for talking to me. Never. And even if you make a mistake or say the wrong thing, I...” She felt him swallow noticeably. “I’m still going to think you’re perfect the way you are.”

Yenna was quiet for a long moment. She felt how warm his body was close against hers, his arms fast around her and his fingers quieting along her back and against her hair. She could hear his breathing, his heart beating. It all felt like a haven, like the leshy’s pool hidden in the depths of the parklands--somewhere safe.

And she didn’t feel afraid anymore.

“Aster?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you like me?”

She felt him nod, his face brushing her ear. “Of course I do.”

Yenna let that sink in, her heart suddenly buffeting her chest like the wings of a bird taking flight. “I mean...do you  _ like _ me? You know…?”

When he chuckled, she could feel it through her hands on his chest. “I knew what you meant. Still yes.”

“Oh. That’s good,” she said a little numbly. Inside, there was whooping and jumping and cheering, an explosive burst of celebration that made it more than a little difficult to concentrate on what was happening on the outside. She was very glad that he still had a hold of her, that her head was still nested in the crook of his neck, so she didn’t have to move or make the right facial expression. Because she was fairly certain that right now her face was doing something ridiculous. “I like you too, you know.”

He gave her entire body a squeeze. “I know.” 

She was quiet for a moment, then rubbed her cheek gently against his jaw. “I should have trusted you,” she whispered.

Aster didn’t say anything, but there was a soft hitch as he breathed.

Then he let her go. Yenna quickly made an effort to compose herself and not look like someone who had experienced a large enough dose of happiness to go into a stupefied daze. Vaguely, she suspected it wasn’t working--she was a terrible liar. Also, silly as it was, a part of her had been willing to just continue the embrace indefinitely.

_ Still...two hugs in one day,  _ she thought to herself, feeling more drunk from Aster than from the Izzet-Fizzet.

“Sorry,” Aster was saying, pulling her back to the present. He grimaced slightly as he took a step back. “Had to stop--can’t feel my feet any more.”

She realized that he must have been up on his toes the entire time to let her keep her head comfortably on his shoulder, and was oddly moved by the effort. He was so kind, and thoughtful, and she wanted to tell him how much she appreciated him, but thinking about it made her chest too painfully tight to get the words out. She wasn’t exactly sure where they stood, but now she felt brave enough to find out. Carefully, she stepped over to him and put an arm around his shoulder. For just a second his muscles tensed, like a person getting into cold water. Then, a little hesitant, he slipped his own arm around her waist, his hand dangling over her withers. After a moment his body relaxed a bit, and he let his fingertips furrow lightly into her plush fur. 

“Come on,” he said, glancing up at her with a strangely bittersweet smile. “Let me walk you home.”

Linked, they continued up the path together, and at the top turned out of the thinning arrowwood shrubs and onto the road to Vitu-Lasha. 

For a while they travelled in silence. For her part, Yenna was happy enough to have time to recover from her bout of talking and emotions, and to let the alcohol fog clear out. She was sure there would be a  _ what happens now _ at some point on the walk. For now though, she just let herself enjoy the feel of their arms around each other and walking together through the night. A light drizzle started to patter on the cobbled streets; Aster pulled out a compact Izzet-made folding umbrella and unfurled it, holding it over both of their heads. 

“So you knew I liked you?” she asked finally.

“Yeah. I was pretty sure anyway.” He didn’t look up at her, but she saw the corners of his mouth curve into an almost imperceptible smile.

“And how did you figure that out?” She tried to sound stern, interrogating, but it was badly undercut by the fact that she found herself grinning. Trying to do otherwise just led to a half-hearted in-between expression that likely fooled no one.

He looked sidelong at her, his face carefully blank. “It wasn’t that hard,” he said, almost apologetically. “You’re very open with your feelings.” 

Yenna rolled her eyes. “You mean everyone can read me like a book,” she said with a wry expression. 

He clearly thought about denying it for a moment, then realized that would be a bit pointless. “Yes,” he said. “But I think it’s one of your best qualities.”

She couldn’t find anything to say to that--all she could do was turn her face away and press her fingers to her lips to try to hide a huge, irrepressible smile. Aster pulled his arm closer around her, said nothing, and let her pretend to be composed.

The roads were mostly empty as they walked, the people inclined to be out this late at night encouraged by the rain not to linger between haunts. To Yenna, it wouldn’t have mattered if they had been packed into the midday foot traffic on a festival day. She would still have felt like it was just the two of them. As it was, they walked almost alone under the orderly posts of magelights with halos of illumination reflecting off the falling rain, topaz colored in the Daleward, then bright emerald-green as they passed into the neighborhood of Lashabosc*. While they walked, she had Aster tell her about the seemingly endless parade of people she had met that night, hoping to be able to actually participate in conversations next time, rather than just answer questions and try to stay afloat. 

She knew Aster didn’t form many close relationships--of everyone they had interacted with, Vai Rayaz was the only one he seemed to be real friends with, rather than just a friendly acquaintance. So she was shocked to find that he seemed to know everything about everyone. Apparently the energy he saved by not actively participating in the myriad relationships, he spent on observing them, and he had more than enough stories to fill the trip back to her vernadi. She was content to let him do so, happy just listen to him speak. 

There was a web of seemingly infinite tangles that connected various patrons romantically, platonically, familially, and via at least a dozen vendettas ranging from cold shoulders to active melee on sight. And then there was everyone  _ they _ knew, extending the web further. Alene’s ten-year-old son (not to be confused with her nine-year-old or twelve-year-old sons, as the woman was apparently doomed or blessed to never have a girl) had started to show aptitude for artifice, which was a matter of no small contention with her mother-in-law who was convinced the boy should be an advokist. The goblin Jeragg considered himself something of a musical archaeologist and had been investigating old Golgari gathering sites to collect ancient bone-flutes, and had run afoul of the kraul guard; it was an event the goblin would describe as a small misunderstanding, but Aster was very clear that the word “grave-robber” was being thrown around the undercity and he was now avoiding every major ingress onto the lower caverns like a plague hospital. And Zekenna, an elven flutist who primarily served at the leisure of the Orzhov aristocracy, swore that the Viceroy of the Izzet was, in her words, “slumming it trysting with a Karlov legal aide with the subtlety of a dog stealing from the table.” 

As Aster filled her in, Yenna realized now that it was no wonder he’d known she was developing feelings for him; he’d clearly honed the skill of people-watching to a professional level. The Selesnyans were very relational, and they paid attention to each other’s interests and especially their emotional well being. However, they also tended to share everything openly and often, and the things they chose to keep private were generally  _ very _ private, and left alone out of respect. Gossip, as such, was not a part of the culture.The Fiddlehead was another world entirely, a massive and good-natured game of whispers at which Aster, she had to assume, was commanding one of the high marks.  _ If only there was someone who would just pay a person to hang about and watch other people for a living, _ she thought,  _ he’d be liable to win an award for it. _

Soon enough, they reached the archway in the ivy-covered garden wall that marked the entrance to her vernadi. She looked up at the circular mosaic that took the place of the arch keystone, a pattern of green glass and delicately shaped white marble in the form of the Selesnyan crest. A trail led into the vernadi proper, softly lit with patches of glowing blue-green moss and clusters of foxfire. She had passed this way many times since she was a child, brushed the ivy aside, greeted the two guards who kept watch along the path… After being plunged into the unfamiliarities of the outside world, it always gave her the feeling of being welcomed home.

This was the first time that she wished she wasn’t going back yet.

Aster took his arm off her and stepped away, staying close enough to keep the umbrella over both their heads, but leaving a suddenly cool line across her withers where he’d held onto her. He glanced through the archway.

“Are you okay from here?”

“We’re basically on my doorstep,” she said, grinning slightly. “I think I can manage.”

“Are you feeling better now?”

She nodded, fiddling with the pom of one of her braids. “Mostly, I think.” 

The rain drummed unevenly on the cloth of the umbrella.

“So what happens now?” Yenna asked, saying what needed to be said.

Aster gave a long sigh. “So...the Azorius Banquet--it’s a pretty big deal. I mean, this is really important for you.”

“For both of us.”

“For both of us,” he conceded, after a moment’s resistance. “And I think that, between rehearsal and preparations and such, that’s going to take up a lot of energy.” He shook his head ruefully. “It might not be the best time to try to change...us. Where we are.”

Her gaze slipped to the side. “I suppose you’re right,” she said, trying to hide her disappointment. Although she couldn’t keep her ears from drooping.

“But,” he continued quickly, “I was thinking that after the concert is over, maybe we could do something together. You know.” He looked up at her, dark eyes earnest. “Start something new.”

Yenna gave him a smile, suddenly feeling shy. “I’d like that. Umm.” Her ears flicked uncertainly. “What I said tonight, about going back to your place...I don’t really think I’m quite ready for that.”

He shook his head. “No, I didn’t think so. Truth be told, neither am I--I’d rather have a few more casual steps between here and there.”

Yenna found herself thinking that, experienced or not, Keski really didn’t know everything.

“So maybe we could just go somewhere together,” she asked. “See how it goes?”

“I’d like that.” He paused, considering something. “How would you feel about trying a fancy tea house in Ovitzia?”

Unable to contain her excitement, her ears snapped forward. “You know, I’ve always wanted to go to one of those!” 

“Perfect. Then it’s a date.”

“So...I’ll see you again soon?”

“Absolutely.” He smiled in his quiet way. “We have to start practicing, right?” Before she could react, he leaned in, his lips brushing her cheek. “Good night, Yenna.”

Her hand instinctively went to her face. “Good night,” she managed politely. She turned away, stepping out from under the umbrella and into the drizzle before the ecstatic giggle and accompanying snort escaped. She knew Aster could still hear her, but that was okay--he didn’t seem to mind, and neither did she. Subsumed in a euphoric haze, she almost walked face-first into a low-hanging tangle of ivy and barely got her feet to move where they were supposed to in order to keep her on track. She could have blamed the night’s drinking--but she knew better. With a few small prods to her spinning mind, she managed to get under the archway without any real incident, happily pointed toward home.

A dozen paces down the lane, she suddenly remembered that she still had his canteen. Pivoting, she trotted back up the path and poked her head out onto the lane. “Hey Aster, you forgot-” She stopped. He was nowhere to be seen, as if he had just vanished into the rain.

_ That’s strange.  _ He could have made it out of sight in the few moments since she’d left him, but only if he’d really headed off at a good clip. She frowned. Out of curiosity, she turned her senses to the worldsong and honed in on his part of it. She could still pick it up just north of where she stood, so he wasn’t too far away yet, but it was definitely receding into the distance. It had also settled into an odd pattern--she heard the rolling fluid noise of a whirlpool, all the burbling bubbles and heavy, pulling currents settled into a stable form; in constant motion rushing in her ears, but directed into a predictable pattern of watery loops and liquid whorls. Intense. Determined.

Yenna chewed her lip a little, thinking. She felt that everything had turned out really well between them. She certainly felt better about it--infinitely better, about as better as she had ever felt about anything--and even though he didn’t wear his feelings around his neck like she did he’d certainly seemed happy. She was confident that things had been resolved when he left.

So as she listened to his harmonic aura fading into the distance, ringing smooth and cold and ardent in its depths, she couldn’t help but wonder what was on his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know this chapter has a lot of will-they/won't they sexy sex baiting. Admit it: you love it too.


	3. III. Refrain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Aster tries desperately to keep Yenna out of a Dimir heist, and shows off some of the competence that put him in demand with his Guild.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Footnotes:
> 
> Dosh -- Central Ravnican slang for a submissive sexual partner kept on by a wealthy patron, short form of the less vulgar Orzhov terms dojar(m) or dojara(f) with the same meaning.  
> Aetherform -- Any solid, real shape made out of mana.  
> Ghilaen -- Coastal slang meaning amateur or inept, roughly equivalent to “scrub”. Plural ghilaen, singular ghilae.   
> Katzier -- Literally meaning someone who is a character or flirtatious. Used as a Dimir designation for a deep social agent, someone who cultivates close, long-term relationships in order to spy on the receiving partner for the guild. Feminine form is katzieri.  
> Stick your hand in a gargoyle’s mouth -- Colloquialism. A local dare among Ravnican youths is to climb up onto a rooftop and stick your hand into the open mouth of a sleeping gargoyle and see how long you can hold your nerve and keep it there.

Aster had had a few encounters over the years that stood out as especially painful. He had been stabbed on three occasions, once in the torso, once in the thigh, and once taking a blade all the way through his forearm in a stupid fight in his teens. Escaping arresters at the scene of a break-in, he had taken a pair of crossbow bolts to his upper back and had suffered a partially-collapsed lung when he’d crudely ripped one free. A dog had attacked him when he was a child and dragged him a full block by the shoulder before his older brother and sister drove it off; he vividly remembered the feeling of its teeth scraping his collarbone. He had even been bitten by a vampire once when he had been caught up in an internal Dimir conspiracy. Its fangs felt like hot needles burying themselves in his neck, and he had barely escaped having his throat torn out--sometimes he still found himself reaching up and rubbing the site of the old wound when he was stressed. All moments of searing agony that still made him flinch whenever the thought of them popped into his head.

None of them-- _ none of them-- _ hurt like hearing Yenna say that she should have trusted him. That felt like having a damn sword driven into his chest and then twisting, and twisting, and twisting until the fibers of his heart were all stretched and drawn tight over the razor edges of the blade. At least the physical injuries were caused by mishap, or accident, or just plain stupidity. This one, at least judging by the feeling, was caused directly and only by him being the biggest scumbag in Ravnica.

Hood up to keep the rain and attention off his face, he headed through the city as quickly as he could. He didn’t run--Dimir Lesson One was that running draws attention and should be used as a last resort, the public interactions version of smashing a safe open with a blunt instrument--but he used the hurried yet inconspicuous pace he employed when he was incognito in a large official building, the kind that indicated that he was focused on some petty errand unimportant to everyone but him and his superior. It was a presentation guaranteed to make officious types like Azorius and Orzhov look right through you; throw in some ramrod-straight military posture and it would let you go virtually anywhere in a Boros garrison unquestioned. Instead of running, which part of him badly wanted to do in spite of his training, he was relying on shortcuts, taking side streets and back alleys to cut down his time. 

The faster he got to Vault Inviolate, the sooner he could at least mitigate the potential for damage.

The light rain filled the night with a haze of sound and obscured visibility, punctuated here and there by the handful of people still out on the streets. Water dripped off the hemlines of his clothes--the umbrella was more conspicuous than he cared to be right now--which were fortunately nice enough to be treated with Simic waterproofing compounds and Selesnyan oils. There were still a few chill, damp patches where the rain had leaked in at a seam, and splashes of water that landed on his face after shaking loose from the lip of his hood, but he barely noticed them. He was still trying to get his thoughts in order through the thick morass of feeling like an absolute heel.

When Yenna had told him about the concert, how she’d gotten them both on the bill, there had been a moment when his brain literally didn’t know what emotion to produce, whether to laugh or cry or just go blank. What she had done was one of the kindest gifts anyone had ever given him--and for a heartbeat, he had wanted to just break down and tell her everything. But he didn’t. Couldn’t. Couldn’t tell her that it put him in a horrible bind, that it was probably the worst possible scenario in his situation. The whole thing was just so thoughtful and accidentally cruel that it made his chest ache.

_ Leave it to Ravnica to hand a man a gold bar by pummeling him in the face with it. _

And then he’d proceeded to take her kindness and throw a bunch of shady conniving right in the face of it. He’d taken her to the Fiddlehead because a number of Household members had regular contact points there, and he knew that he’d be able to get word to Feralina through one of the bartenders. He’d never taken anyone there before--and he wanted, desperately, to believe that he would have taken Yenna anyway if they were celebrating something else. But he couldn’t be sure, could never know for certain that he’d have done it if his hand hadn’t been forced.

He hated himself for not knowing that.

As it was, he’d brought her knowing it would be an almost overwhelming amount of excitement for her, which had been intentional and which he also felt like a prick for doing. He genuinely wanted her to have her celebration and get the praise she deserved...but he’d also deliberately planned to slip away while she was dazed by the crowd. 

_ Of course _ she’d refused to let him deflect the attention onto her and insisted on sharing the credit, keeping him involved in the conversation. And then when he’d finally seen the chance to sneak off, she’d clutched his hand in a way that made it hard to breathe, silently asking him not to abandon her in the chaos. Chaos he’d provoked. 

He couldn’t leave her after that.

He had finally gotten away to confer with his contact by stashing her with Via Rayaz, where he’d assumed things would be calm and polite. Safe. But then Keski had found her, because the Rakdos had an impeccable nose for finding a pot to stir--and while she was a skilled burglar for the Dimir, philosophically Keski was Cult to the bone. A relative innocent like Yenna would basically be catnip to her. 

Aster clenched his fist inside the pockets of his cloak until his knuckles popped, still seething. Yenna said she had asked for advice, but he was dead certain that Keski had had a hand in soliciting the question. He was confident that Yenna had never slept with anyone, fairly sure she might never have been in a romantic relationship before...and that gave him serious questions about whether part of the centaur’s panic was due to Keski putting some catastrophically vulgar sexual concept in front of her just to watch her discomfort. 

Thinking about it actually squeezed a growl out of his throat. Normally he tolerated Keski’s behavior as just trying to provoke a reaction, and accepted that the best response was to simply not rise to the bait. But that was when she was needling  _ him.  _ It turned out that when it was Yenna, he felt very differently on the matter--the next time he ran across the imp he was going to feed her a hearty piece of his fucking mind. 

There was even anger left over for Vai Rayaz, although he did his best to talk himself down from that part. He and Vai Rayaz had known each other for a long time, well before he’d known the vedalken was an embedded agent in the Izzet; it was actually Vai Rayaz who had originally put him in touch with House Dimir. Or put the Dimir in touch with him, it was always tricky to tell. Regardless, he had always proven to be very level-headed and a good friend, one of the few alongside Feralina. Logically Aster knew the vedalken had probably had little if anything to do with the situation, aside from his tendency to escalate Keski, and tried not to blame him without reason.

It was just that whatever conversation the three of them had had, it had tied Yenna into emotional knots and made her utterly distraught--which stoked an uncharacteristic urge in his core to find everyone even slightly responsible and belt them in the mouth.

_ It’s finally happening,  _ he thought with a groan,  _ too much time undercover and I’m finally turning into an actual dyed-in-the-wool Boros. _

Wrapped up in his thoughts, his feet carried him of their own accord into Orzhov-controlled territory. The central buildings were towering and ornate here, looming over ordinary people at street level to remind them of where the real power was, whose thumb they were under. The architecture of oppression, he’d read in one of his books on guild history. Glancing up at the grand nave of the central cathedral, backlit rose window of black and white and gold gleaming through the rain like a judgemental eye, he had to agree with no little bitterness. The Karlovs to a one were rapacious blood suckers that put actual vampires to shame. After all, a vampire could only take your life and only once--Orzhov aristocracy could continue taking from you and from yours long after you were dead.

_ But no one can accuse them of being unorganized,  _ he thought with a snort. He hadn’t been to this exact place before, but rigid traditionalists that they were, Orzhov neighborhoods were all laid out in very similar conformation radiating from a central treasury cathedral. Strict adherence to patterns: a field agent’s best ally. He eyed the spire thrusting severely over the rooftops and quickly used it to calculate his position relative to his destination. Instinctively bearing in the direction he needed, he took a sharp left down a narrow corridor. 

It was dark in the alley, but Aster could see well enough; even two generations from pure elven blood he still saw much better in the dark than a human. Narrow windows accented with stained glass insets rose over the alley, now dark and empty for the night. The buildings here were mostly small banks and financiers and loan offices, built out of mismatched stone discarded from grander projects. Back in his hometown of Avric this would have been quite an upscale block. In the Tenth District, the patchwork colors of the masonry marked this as the financial strip serving the less desirable part of the neighborhood. That was fine with him, since there would be fewer late-night travellers to avoid--wealthy Orzhov areas had banks that never closed, lest the upper class be kept from their coffers, while the less fortunate had to wait for daylight hours. For once, he was glad of the inequity of things. He would much rather be on the streets alone; his thoughts were more than enough bad company for him at the moment. 

Unbidden, Aster found his mind moving forward to how the night had finished. He wished it wouldn’t, but meticulous recall was a habit he had thoroughly trained himself for--he couldn’t turn it off just because he didn’t like what he remembered.

Unfortunately. 

So he thought about what had happened at the end, when he’d come back to get Yenna from Vai Rayaz, how he’d been so preoccupied with his own troubles that he hadn’t picked up on how upset she was until things were already spiraling. And when she’d asked...what she’d asked, he’d botched his response so badly that she thought he was angry at her. 

That part actually made him feel a little bit sick.

She had asked to sleep with him, or more accurately, had been willing to let him sleep with her. She hadn’t been ready, had been obviously apprehensive of the prospect. But she had been willing to do it anyway. Yes, partly because Keski had put her up to it--blackwaters swallow the imp down to a celibate hell somewhere--but also because she wanted to have something with him so much that she had risked everything to reach out for it. She had made an effort to give everything over to him, to give  _ herself _ to him, trusted him enough to put the whole thing in his hands. 

And he’d managed to start from there and sink everything. Hard. He could still see Yenna’s face when she was apologizing, apologizing to _ him,  _ because he made her feel like  _ she _ had done something wrong, something awful or shameful or offensive or-

_ You made her cry, _ he thought to himself.  _ She was ready to follow you home, let you do who-knows-what to her as far as she knew, and you managed to make her feel so wretched about it that she started crying. In the name of Lazav’s infitnite fucking shadow, how is it even possible to screw things up that badly? _

He would never stop kicking himself. Aster couldn’t imagine putting himself out there, showing that level of utter vulnerability to another person, only to have them react with anger and rejection--which was definitely what she thought had happened. Tides, he couldn’t even imagine  _ trying _ in her position, exposing himself to that kind of blow in the first place. She was braver than he was, that was certain. 

And generous. 

And beautiful. 

And  _ good _ . 

And seeing her crying, not knowing the words to fix it, he had panicked. Almost on impulse he’d taken her in his arms with the crazy, stupid, desparate idea that he would just hold onto her until somehow everything became okay again. He was too cynical to think it would be that simple, but at the time he felt he had to try something, anything, to make things right. 

And then it had actually worked--he had nothing but that simple gesture and reassuring words, but it was enough for her. Looking back, maybe he shouldn’t have been as shocked as he was. She had always been open and sincere; it shouldn’t have been a surprise that was all she wanted in return.

But he was still surprised at himself. 

There was so much in his life that was built on misdirection and subversion, so much time spent learning to keep himself guarded. Letting that guard down even briefly, even with friends and lovers, was...difficult. But he had felt her body molded against his, her hands pressed to the top of his chest, the soft, _impossibly_ _soft_ fur of her ear brushing across his face, and the space around her brimming with the scent of plants and loam after a warm rain. And for a moment he had been there without any constraint or subterfuge, words just falling out of his heart. Comfort, affection, sincerity--it had all felt so effortless. It had felt safe.

And as soon as he was defenseless, the blade fell. 

_ I should have trusted you. _

Hearing her say it out loud turned his blood to ice, and in that moment, the only thought in his head was a resounding No. __

_ No you shouldn’t. You can’t. _

The hard reality of what he was doing came crashing back down, snuffing the possibility that he might have let her in and reminding him that her feelings for him were based on half-truths and evasions. He felt wretched--and he knew deep down that it hurt because it should. At the time he’d just done his best not to react, but he was glad she hadn’t been able to see his face. 

Aster laced the bottom of his hood tighter as the wind kicked up fitfully, throwing chill droplets in his face and gusting coldly on his damp skin. He hardly felt them, not when he could still feel her there, cuddled under his chin, warm and unwavering in her faith in him. Never suspecting that he had been deceiving her and manipulating her the entire night. Really, the entire time he had known her. He was irate at Keski for getting into Yenna’s head and shoving her mind around, but wasn’t he doing the same thing? Yes, he had been honest about his feelings for her--he wasn’t an actual monster, at least--but so much of everything else was a tightly controlled deception, carefully crafted to separate her from the rest of his life. 

He exhaled, hissing through clenched teeth. He had been in a scant handful of relationships with women outside of the Household, usually short, and he had never revealed his membership with the guild to any of them. Common enough practice for most Dimir agents in casual relationships, since it avoided a lot of questions that couldn’t be answered. He always told himself that it spared everyone distress--that really, it protected their feelings as much as his. And he had always been fine with that reasoning in the past. But now…

Now, with Yenna, things felt different. Yes, he was afraid that she would leave if he told her everything, but it was more than that: he was afraid of hurting her. Aster actually couldn’t tell anymore which one of them he was trying to protect. He didn’t want her to leave, but he  _ dreaded _ the outcome where she left because he had broken her heart by lying to her. Which made him feel the need to lie to her more than ever to keep her from finding out. To keep from hurting her. To keep her. He bit his lip. 

He really didn’t want her to leave.

Staring down at the shivering lines of water accumulated between uneven cobbles, he silently cursed his circumstances, himself, and even in the deepest hidden corner of his thoughts, the Green Lady for directing him on two paths that interfered so badly with each other. When Vai Rayaz had initially sent the Dimir his way, She had urged him to join the Household. And She was the one who had impelled him to befriend Yenna on that first day backstage at the Sumala Fair. Now it turned out that those two bonds mixed like Gruul and filing taxes--he wouldn’t dare demand an explanation from Her, but the idea flitted momentarily through his mind before he rushed it off like a skittish animal. He wondered sourly if the benefit of being a truly devout believer was having some greater power to yell at when everything crashed to pieces, and not worrying They would be gone if you did. At the moment, he could certainly understand the appeal.

He had been given the gift of a place in the Azorius concert; a coveted opportunity on its own, but even more so because he would share it with Yenna. Of course, he was already tasked to attend the event for the purpose of committing serious espionage.

Yenna asked to sleep with him, which...well, he wasn’t looking for that at the moment, but it would be a lie to say he hadn’t thought about it, wouldn’t at least have been flattered under other circumstances. But the possibility had been presented in such a way that it felt twisted, broken, and her distress over the whole thing--especially his oblivious response--was just heartwrenching.

He had done his best to make her feel better. He’d promised her comfort, safety, someone she could confide in, wanted to reassure her that she could trust him--all while harrowed by the knowledge that, no, she couldn’t. 

His lies were protecting her, but they were protecting her  _ from him,  _ and he hated, hated, hated it.

Moments that by all rights should have been soaring highs were smothered by the big picture, and the inescapable sensation of feeling like a tremendous bastard. Aster groaned to himself, wondering if somehow this whole situation was a nightmare penned by a Rakdos lampooner. Because if it wasn’t, they’d probably pay him good money for the idea. 

It was indicative of how bogged down he was in his own thoughts that Aster didn’t see the men step out of the alley until he’d nearly walked into them; as it was, he took them in rapidly as he rocked to a halt. There were two of them, one lean and spareboned with a scar along his left check that put a ragged gap in his facial hair, the other one a veritable Orzhov vault made of meat, with massively broad shoulders that spoke to ogres somewhere in his heritage, and no discernible neck. They were both wearing piled layers of clothing topped by heavy leather overcoats, with pulled-up sheaves of collars at their necks and broad-brimmed, dripping hats tugged low over their brows. Protective clothing to absorb any strikes from fists or knives, anything less than a sword, features covered or padded so they would be hard to identify. The smaller of the two men didn’t have any visible blades, but Aster could tell by the outline of his hand in one of his many coat pockets that he had a grip on a concealed weapon. The hulking brute had a hawksbill knife that was more like a hawksbill short sword through his belt, intended to be seen. Intended to threaten.

Aster knew what was happening before they said anything, and ground his teeth together like a vice. “You can’t be serious,” he muttered into the rain.  _ Blackwaters take me already--can I not get a fucking break today? _

“Heyo, friend,” the scarred man said over the drumming of the rain, with a smile that revealed one ivory replacement tooth and no friendliness whatsoever. His large companion said nothing, content to loom and glare down with glinting, piggy little eyes. “Why such a sad face? Maybe your purse is a little too heavy to drag around in this weather, eh?” The man’s grin widened, like a rupture in an overripe gourd. “Good thing we came along to help you with that.”

Aster shook his head. “I don’t have time for this,” he snapped.

The scarred man’s smile disappeared, curdling into a vicious scowl. His partner swayed forward half a pace; Aster heard the expected footsteps of a third person moving into place behind him as quietly as they could.  _ Thinking the rain is going to cover their approach.  _ It was a good enough thought, and might have worked on someone who hadn’t been trained for both theft and combat, someone whose elven blood and years of practice didn’t let him hear the difference between raindrops on clothing and on cobblestones. Namely, someone else.

Taking a more aggressive stance, the scarred man didn’t notice Aster shifting his own footing. “Don’t have  _ time _ ? Well aren’t you a mouthy little dosh*, out on your own” he growled, advancing. “You’re on our time now, boy. Now hand it over before you lose something more important than your coin.”

_ Plowing right on into the intimidation part of the mugging; how damn obvious. _ It looked like this was one more nuisance he was going to have to deal with tonight. 

The scarred man was stepping in to him now, reaching to take hold of the front of his coat to give him a shake, shove him to the cobbles, whatever this particular thug’s preference was. He wouldn’t move in with the knife, not yet--he wanted to see Aster cave in and show fear first, needed to feel in control again even more than he wanted the money. He was a bully. However, he clearly hadn’t grown up brawling, because he didn’t know one of the basic truisms Aster had learned from scrapping with the local dockyard brats as a boy: never lay hands on someone if you weren’t ready to fight immediately.

Aster was not the most powerful fighter in the city--truth be told, he lost a lot of those early fights growing up along the docks--but he had been training with the Boros for seven years, and if there was one thing Boros taught their ranks to do, it was subdue a petty criminal who made the mistake of getting in their faces. A fair number of Boros were--not to put too fine a point on it--excitable meatheads, and would have just opted for brute force. But they did have other methods. Practicing with Boros sparring partners who were often bigger and stronger than he was taught him to be efficient, to carefully gauge things like stance, balance, movement, to use an opponent’s strength against them. And the Dimir had taught him that guile, intimidation, and misdirection were the weapons of first resort.

Combined, the tactics from the two guilds had taught Aster to fight smarter.

When the scarred man went to grab him, Aster didn’t try to dodge or step backward, instead taking an extra heartbeat to watch carefully, sizing up how he was standing, how he was balanced, where he was planning to move. The man was angry, sloppy, and his hand came across the space between them as predictably as if its route had been plotted on a map. Prepared, Aster watched the other man reach out for him...and pivoted slightly.

Several things happened at once. 

The scarred man’s hand slid past him, brushing the front of Aster’s coat; as it went by, Aster reached over and around the intended blow like a coiling snake, clamped onto the meaty part of the other man’s hand, and twisted, bending the hand, the arm, and the person. Automatically, the scarred man followed the motion, trying to relieve the pressure, sending him down to the wet cobbles on one knee as Aster wrenched the wrist to its limit, forcing it upward to drive the man further down and away from him. 

With his free left hand, Aster reached back behind him in the direction of the approaching third mugger, twined his fingers into something just beyond the real, and  _ pulled _ . In an instant mana flowed out of the veins in his wrist, his palm, his fingers, wrapping around and through his skin in molten, glass-smooth planes. As fast as a thought he felt the energy pour over his hand and wrist, ringing in his bones as it crystallized into a curved blade the length of his forearm, the thickness of a breath, and the dense blue color of glacial ice. The pactblade hummed in the rain with the resonant tone of a singing bowl, bright minnow-silver flashes shimmering wherever water struck its surface.

Amid the reverberating tones and the soft chimes of raindrops meeting the surface of the blade, Aster heard the wet slap of feet against the puddled cobblestones as the person behind him came to an abrupt halt. The huge man in front of him swayed uncertainly on his feet and looked at the others, clearly not used to making his own tactical decisions.

Knowing he had only bought a moment, Aster turned his attention back to the scarred man on one knee in front of him. The leader. The bully. Keeping his face impassive, Aster made a fractional shift of mana in his blood and allowed an imprinted sigil to glimmer to life on the back of his hand, blue and black lines darkly tracing the Spider’s Eye of House Dimir from beneath his skin. He twisted the man’s captured hand a degree farther, eliciting a pained noise through clenched teeth and drawing his attention to the smoldering symbol. Keeping the pactblade out behind him--the aetherform* was highly attuned to water, and with the rain falling he was actually able to  _ feel _ the third person and keep the weapon trained on her like a dowsing rod--he leaned over the man in front of him, who regrettably smelled much like he looked. Baring his teeth in pain, the scarred man was confused, afraid...generally in a good state of mind to be persuaded.

“As I said,” Aster told him. “I don’t have time for this.” He kept his voice as even and emotionless as his facial expression, a tactic guaranteed to unsettle by making the gambit look effortless, making it look as if there were more frightening tricks hidden behind the mask. 

“We’re sorry sir,” the huge man stammered, looking at the Dimir sigil like it was a demon’s curse-mark. “We didn’t know you were a Dusker.”

He didn’t even use the word Dimir, as if afraid saying it might jinx him. A superstitious type then...good. Because Aster really didn’t want to fight a man larger than most livestock. Feeding out a little more mana, Aster allowed the silver shine of power to kindle in his eyes, aiming a baleful glance at each of them in turn. 

“That’s the point, isn’t it  _ ghilaen* _ ? Now, I can either inform my superior that you lot are responsible for making me late for my rendezvous, or,” he wrenched the scarred man’s hand another notch, squeezing out a clenched howl, “I can just take care of this myself right now.” 

“Please, we...we had no idea,” the woman behind him said. He let his eyes slowly slide back to her, let the mana run in and the shine rise until the woman cast her gaze down. It was ostensibly out of deference, but also so she could stare fixedly at the aetherblade, raindrops sending bright ripples across its surface as the weapon drank some of the water into itself and sent the rest flowing in strange patterns over its eldritch planes. She was still holding a broad, triangular knife in one hand; Aster looked at it and at her and pushed the mana until the look was blazing silver. The woman hurriedly threw the weapon to the ground. “We’ve no mind to interfere in Dusker--er, Dimir business,” she said quickly. “It will never happen again, I swear.”

He narrowed his eyes, giving one last dire look to the trio. Then he unceremoniously released the scarred man’s hand; the would-be mugger snatched it back up against his chest as if it had been burned. “See that it doesn’t,” Aster said coldly. With a gesture he pulled the aetherblade back into his hand, frozen geometries folding back into his flesh in the blink of an eye, sending a clear message:  _ I can summon it again just as easily, and you have no idea what else I might be able to do.  _ Then while they were still gaping, he turned sharply, brushed passed the huge man--who nearly tripped on himself trying to back out of the way--and walked off down the darkened street.

He only picked up his pace once he was well out of sight, letting out a long breath. He was relieved that a good opening move and practiced bluff had let him avoid escalating things. Aster had no interest in trying to face off in open combat against three armed thugs, one of whom should probably count as two people. He might have managed it, if he had taken one of them out of the fight quickly enough and things had fallen his way, but he would rather not test his luck on pointless skirmishing with half-kesz hoods. Especially because he had meant what he said: he really didn’t have time for it. Tonight had already been a mess; all he could do now was hope to keep it from escalating to a full scale tides-be-damned disaster. He had managed to solve this altercation with flash and bluster, and for the moment he’d patched things up with Yenna just by talking with her.

He suspected making arrangements with House Dimir would not be so simple.

Fortunately, nothing further occurred to slow down his journey, although he thought ruefully that the way the night was going, it wouldn’t have been a surprise if a sinkhole simply opened under him and dropped him into the undercity, or some Izzet goblin crashed into him after being fired across the neighborhood in a rocket catapult. Something lucky like that. Nevertheless, he walked quickly through the rain-drenched night and arrived soon enough at his destination. 

Crossing the broad boulevard, he walked up to the building, the wet marble face glimmering pearl grey in the light spilling from inside. The front windows were made of heavy, rippled glass, divided into abstract geometrical sections in different tints of pale orchid and lavender. Clearly created by a master craftsmen, clearly expensive, and clearly designed to make it impossible to see inside. Patrons of the Vault Inviolate were, with good reason, a wary bunch.

The Vault Inviolate was an old establishment in a quietly upscale Orzhov neighborhood, tastefully subdued in that particular way that indicates that both the ownership and the clientele have imposing wealth, but that it is too tied up in semi-legal dealings to bother slathering gilt all over the cornices. It was equal parts lounge and social club, and a hub for all sorts of people who wanted both luxury and privacy to conduct their business. Obviously the Dimir favored it, although Aster had no idea who among the gathered coterie might be a Household member. But they were hardly the only ones. There were always a number of Orzhov aristocracy, even the odd Karlov third cousin descending to meet the people who did their dirty work, and an equal number of underworld denizens who kept up at least the affectation of class. Organized crime capos, high-end fences, and smugglers of the truly exotic; the Vault Inviolate would graciously host all of them in exchange for exorbitant membership fees and grotesquely expensive drinks. 

Aster knew there was a regular here who traded in firemane tears, acquired by means he didn’t care to consider. There was a man with a red right hand who could, for a price, obtain mystic objects that had no right to exist. Once or twice, he had even seen individuals he was certain were members of the Ochran. The first time, he had taken a subtle look at the person, a black-haired elf with Golgari moodmarks, to try to figure out if he was right. The man had done what virtually no one ever did: immediately notice Aster walking across a public space. The next time he thought he saw one of the Ochran, Aster decided he could live with unconfirmed hunches. 

In their own way, everyone here simply wanted to be left in peace. Whoever you were, whatever your business, as long as you could afford the membership fee the Vault Inviolate would offer you rich respite from the outside world. And, more importantly, an ironclad guarantee of security.

Despite it being the deep hours of the night, the place was still clearly doing brisk business, with people coming and going around Aster as he went up to the stand in the foyer and gave the attendant a member number. However, unlike most places catering to the late-night crowd, this one was strangely quiet--no laughter, no bawdy shouts as customers got into their cups, not even the billowing noise of massed conversations--just the indistinct susurrus of quiet chatter that sounded ever-so-slightly unnatural. Aster knew that the sound didn’t come from the customers, but from a magical effect covering the entire public room, generating the artificial sounds of conversation that never quite fell into authentic patterns, and dampening the actual conversations at various tables unless you were within a few feet. Of course, the widely-spaced seating meant that you would never be within a few feet of anyone else’s table unless you deliberately approached--something that should be done only with both certainty and caution, since going up to the wrong table at the wrong moment could have dire consequences.

The attendant returned after checking his member number--courtesy of House Dimir, who must have had a truly prodigious open tab here--and led him up a small flight of stairs to the raised floor of the public room. As he left the landing he felt the semi-liquid shimmer of a magical field, clinging to him slightly like a soap bubble and wicking all the water off his clothes and boots as he passed through it.  _ Of course,  _ he thought sourly,  _ can’t get any water on these expensive floors. Got to have a perfectly clean front for everyone’s dirty business.  _

Honestly, Aster didn’t care much for the Vault; there was too much hypocrisy and superiority going around for his tastes. But it was where a meeting could be set on short notice. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, and begging was absolutely on the evening’s menu. So he followed the attendant up the stairs and through the spacious common area, where magically looped conversations mingled with a trio of musicians on a center dias. He recognized the shawm player from the Fiddlehead--she didn’t notice him, of course, although he turned his face aside slightly as a precaution--and he wondered in a flash if she was  _ someone _ , Household or underground or one of the plethora of criminal organizations in the city, or if she was just a nice lady who wanted to be paid a reasonable wage to play music and didn’t care, or genuinely didn’t know, who her audience were. Then they were through the room, leaving only a passing annoyance at how paranoid this place always made him feel. 

They moved into the outer corridors of the wide room where individual booths were separated by floor to ceiling partitions like the cells of a honeycomb. Most of the screens were thin sheets of stone or wavy purple glass matching the front windows, but a few elevated cloisters were secluded by real wood, intricately carved panels of black ebony that probably cost more than he made in a year. Each. Those booths were reserved for the kind of individuals who could destroy hundreds of people with a signature. 

Hardly worthy of such pride of place, and glad of it, Aster was escorted through the maze of more common booths and eventually seated in one encased by a stone facade and a single glass panel bearing a stylized depiction of the twin moons Vereg and Haeja. As soon as he was inside the envelope of walls, all sound from the rest of the room was reduced to a murmur as if a blanket had been thrown on it, courtesy of privacy spells. He was given a glass of whiskey, which he didn’t touch, a ginger soda back, which he drank to try to settle his writhing stomach, and about a dozen long minutes to sit in silence with nothing to do but reflect on how things were going.

It was a relief when Feralina showed up.

She arrived with the attendant from the front, wrapped in a layered evening gown of iridescent silks that shifted between blue and green as the light caressed them. Heavy makeup in scintillating aquamarine gilded her eyes and lips, and long strands of overlapping mother-of-pearl plates dripped off of her, woven between her hair, ears, neck, and shoulders on thread-thin lines of silver. The ensemble indicated a substantial endeavor even for Fera; for her to look this lavish this late at night meant she must have come from working a con, likely with the Simic judging by overall motif. Aster felt bad that he’d called her away from what had clearly been an investment of time and effort, and he wasn’t quite sure how to feel that she’d dropped everything to answer, but those had become secondary concerns in the moment.

Right now, he needed to deal with the oncoming disaster.

Feralina greeted him with her usual grace and charm, as if delighted to have received an invitation to catch up with a dear friend. She dismissed the attendant with a hand placed just so on his arm and a few felda slipped into his palm, slid into the booth like fine oils poured on skin and pulled the thick velvet curtain across the opening onto the aisle. She went through the customary check-in phrases with him--protocol was protocol--but as soon as the necessities were out of the way, Aster leaned in across the table, keeping his voice low out of habit despite the magical secrecy of their alcove.

“Please tell me you can get me out of this.” 

Feralina met his eyes for a fraction of a second before looking away, reaching across the table and lifting his untouched whiskey to her lips for a long sip. And he knew what the answer was. A long noise of frustration and denial slipped out as he screwed his eyes shut, letting his head fall back because it suddenly felt like too much effort to hold it up.

“I’m sorry,  _ badra _ ,” he heard her say. “I tried, dug into this as deep as I could. But…” She trailed off and he heard the glassy clink of ice as she took another drink, then a sigh. “I’m sorry,” she repeated, the sympathy in her voice taking away the last of his hope.

“No, no, no,” he groaned, opening his eyes and giving her a desperate look. “Come on, there has to be something you can do, some kind of arrangement?”

“I wish there was, baby,” she said regretfully, “but they’ve got their heads set on this.”

“There has to be someone else they can put on the job, there  _ has _ to be…”

She shook her head, mother-of-pearl bangles in her hair pattering off each other with a sound like raindrops. “Bad timing for good luck, but they want you on this one. Specifically. You’ve got the best position right now, and you’ve done a lot of real good work lately. Stirred up some attention in the upper ranks.” She held his gaze for a second, then looked away apologetically and sipped at the whiskey. “ _ Avroza _ . Flattering, as these things go,” she murmured.

Aster stared at nothing for a moment, his breath heavy in his chest as his eyes burned a hole through a nonspecific pane of the glass panel. Then he slammed his hand on the table with a bang like a cannon.

“For the love of  _ fucking _ tides!”

Feralina flinched minutely, recoil flickering across her face. Aster clenched his hand into a fist until his knuckles bloomed white...then released it with a long exhale of surrender, lifting the hand to his face and dropping his forehead into it in defeat. 

“Sorry,” he muttered. “I just…” He glanced up at her through disheveled shocks of dark hair, pleading. “There’s  _ nothing _ you can do?”

“I wish I could,  _ cholino _ ,” she said, her expression pained. “But whatever this is, they put a lot of resources into it. Apparently had an embedded agent pull strings to change the venue, make this opportunity happen.” She gave a small, helpless shrug. “You know how it is, honey: the overseers want what they want.”

“Yeah. I know how it is.” He clenched his fingers in his hair, frustration getting the better of him. “It just seems like the most astronomical coincidence; I can’t get my damn head around-” He stopped as a thought occurred to him, and fell coldly from his mind straight into the pit of his stomach. 

“Fera,” he said slowly. “Did the House do this?”

She frowned at him as if he were drunk. “Of course. What did I just-”

“No.” The flat coldness in his voice felt like the smooth lines of his aetherblade. “Did they get Yenna involved because they knew she would suggest me and give me an alibi to get in?”

She made a face, dubious. “That’s a little paranoid, don’t you think?” 

“Is it?”

“I don’t…” She bit her exquisitely embellished lip; he saw that for once she had scraped a small line of color off, creating a tiny imperfection in the overall effect. Her voice held the barest tinge of uncertainty. “I don’t know. It feels like too much effort, you know? Too much to predict even for them. I mean...”

“ _ Fera. _ ”

He hadn’t meant her name to sound so much like an accusation--but it did. 

Her features became stony. “I said I don’t know. I’ve got nothing else for you, okay?” For a second they glared at each other in chill silence. Then she relented a little, her face softening. She dropped her eyes to her hands, fingers laced together and one elegant nail--meticulously painted to mimic the flashing scale of a fish--tapping an infinitesimal cadance on the surface of the table. “Aster--if I knew anything, I would tell you.” 

He believed her. 

He almost wished he didn’t; it might have been easier to think she was lying than that she had done her best for him and came up empty and felt like a failure for it, that she was hurting for him. But he  _ did _ believe her. He slumped forward, letting his head drop into the cradle of his arms, his nose pressed on the polished surface of the table. When he spoke, his words were muffled even to his own ears. 

“Fucking damn it,” he said. 

He stayed there for a few long moments. At last he took a deep breath, released it to fog up the cool tabletop. “I shouldn’t have come at you like that,” he mumbled, staring at the barely visible sheen of light trickling around the edge of his arm.

“No, you shouldn’t have,” she agreed bluntly, but there was no bite to her words. 

He sighed. “I know you would tell me.” He knew he didn’t have to acknowledge it, but he wanted to, whether it ultimately made a difference to the situation or not. There was little enough honesty in his life--with everything going wrong, he suddenly felt like it shouldn’t go unmentioned. 

_ Maybe Yenna is rubbing off on me.  _

The thought triggered a pang in his chest that heaved itself loose in the form of a distressed, unnameable noise. Knowing it was undignified and not caring, he burrowed his face slightly further into the crook of his arm. After a moment of silence, he felt a hand laid on his shoulder. Part of him wanted to pull back, but instead he just allowed it to rest there. He didn’t even resist when Fera gave him a supportive squeeze through his coat. When she took her hand away, he sat up, running his fingers through his hair to straighten it out.

“So what now?” he asked.

In response, Fera sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. Aster was instantly wary.  _ That’s not a good sign.  _

“Your girl is going to be on the scene of a job,” she answered slowly, “and you’re a field agent, not a  _ katzier.  _ You know what the arrangement is supposed to be from my end.”

Aster frowned, trying to follow--then pulled back with a creaking of the leather booth as the implication hit him. “No,” he said, stunned. “No, that’s not...Fera, you can’t.”

She pursed her lips, covering the flash of aquamarine color in an unhappy look. “That’s the protocol,  _ badra _ ,” she said with real regret. “If she’s going to make you, then I have to take steps, keep her from showing up. Nothing bad, nothing dangerous,” she assured hurriedly, seeing his panicked look, “just a little delay. Make sure she doesn’t get to the show.”

He was shaking his head in dismay, in disbelief. “This concert is a huge chance for her, it’s a one-time opportunity.”

“Baby, she’s a Filí with the Conclave--she’ll have other chances.”

“Not like this,” he insisted. “You don’t understand, this is a prestige event, it carries a bunch of weight in performance circles. If she’s a no-show, it could ruin her.”

“And if she’s there it could ruin the job, and it could ruin you,” Fera said pointedly. “Having her there is too much of an unknown, too much of a liability, you know that. I’m sorry, but we can’t let it happen.”

“Blackwaters damn it all, I’ll risk it-”

“That’s not your choice to make. If this goes sideways and you get caught-”

“Tides, Fera, that’s not going to happen!”

“It damn well could if we don’t keep her away! You could land yourself in jail-”

“I don’t care!”

“Well I do! You’re my best agent and my friend, I’m not going to see you dragging chain in a Prahv hotel just because you’re being a fucking dolt over this girl-”

“ _ Fera, I can’t!”  _

If the booth hadn’t been shielded, they would have drawn every eye and ear in the Vault. 

They were both on their feet now, leaning across the space between them in the sudden silence. Aster found that his hands were locked so tightly on the edge of the table that it made his forearms ache; he forced himself to release his grip, breathing hard. Feralina had pulled back when he yelled--he never yelled--and her expression had changed markedly from a scowl to something else, something searching. He hung his head, not feeling able to meet her eyes.

“I can’t,” he repeated, quieter but no less adamant. Looking down at the table, he could see the faintly sketched impression of his own reflection on the smooth surface, just a few blurred lines of light making shape out of shadow. “I just can’t do that to her--I can’t risk messing up her life to avoid a possibility of messing up mine. Look...I will do whatever I have to do; I’ll get everything figured out and I’ll get our objective. I’ll make it all work, and you can trust me on that.” He turned his eyes up to Feralina. “But I’m asking you as a friend: don’t involve her in this. Please.”

Feralina was still watching him, still wearing that same strange look. “Okay.”

“I know it’s not fair, and I’m sorry to ask you like this, but I-” Aster stopped, lifted his head to stare openly at her. “Wait, what did you say?”

She gave him a slow nod. “I said okay. We’ll leave your girl out of it.”

“...Oh.” He blinked, knowing he should respond but at a loss for how. He had been ready for more resistance--he wasn’t quite sure how to respond to support. So he simply stood there, brow furrowed as he tried to sort everything rifling through his head and waited for her to say something. She didn’t. And finally, he had to ask. 

“Why?”

Feralina turned her face down, reaching across her body to wrap a hand around her other forearm above a stack of silver bracelets, looking startlingly exposed under her perfect image. “Because you’re my friend, and I can see what this means to you. And because a long time ago someone did the same for me.”

Aster took in her stance, the way she clutched her arm close to herself, the small unconscious movements of her manicured fingers. “Did it work out?” he asked.

She gave him the faded ghost of a smile. “In the end? No,” she said, shaking her head, her adornments rustling. “But I got to try.” She let go of her forearm and reached across the table, placing her hand firmly over his. “You should get the chance too.” 

He looked down, then turned his hand over and held her fingers tight. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “I won’t forget this, Fera.”

“Let’s just call it payback for all the lemon pastries,” she said, letting a wry smile flash across her face. “And don’t thank me yet.” Her tawny eyes turned serious. “You still have to pull this off.”

“I know.” He found himself nodding at her. “I can do this. Trust me.”

“I do trust you.” She withdrew her hand, folding her arms across her chest. “I just don’t want to see anything go wrong. Look at you  _ cholino _ ; you can’t take that face into prison.”

Aster chuckled dryly, secretly hoping he’d be able to do the same thing a month from now. “I don’t plan to.”

“You know what they say about plans,” she said flatly. “I want you to tell me that you know what you’re doing. Because if you’re not letting me manage your girl, that means you have to do it, and I need to know that your stupid marshmallow heart isn’t going to trip you up.” Feralina fixed him with a hard look. “If you need her out of your way, distract her. If you need to lie, then you lie. If you need to bail out, you do it and you make up an explanation for her later. We clear?”

Aster felt a quick spike of discomfort as he realized that everything he had done to Yenna tonight--everything he hated himself for doing to her--he would have to do again on a grander scale. He shoved it down. The ends justified the means. They would have to. “We’re clear,” he confirmed with a nod.

“ _ And you’re not going to get caught _ ,” she followed up sharply, pointing a beautifully decorated finger at his chest like a mugger’s knife, much more intimidating than the thugs from earlier. “If you mess this up you’ll be answering to a hall full of arresters, and I’ll be explaining to a back room full of Household higher ups why I let you stick your hand in a gargoyle’s mouth*.”

He cocked his head at her. “Because you like me.”

She raised an eyebrow and tilted her hips, flippant. “Hmph. Because you cheated and brought your ‘saddest boy in the world’ schtick to the table.”

He shrugged. “You use the tools you have.”

Then he smiled at her, and she gave him a wan grin in return.

“Thanks, Fera.”

“You’re welcome,  _ badra _ .”

They both sat back down, Feralina lowering herself like a settling bird of paradise and Aster just letting himself down with a  _ thwump _ . Suddenly feeling tired as the night caught up with him, he sank gratefully back into the supple leather. This place was a den of devils, but he had to admit that they knew how to commit their sins in comfort. Across from him, Feralina finished off the last finger of whiskey. Chunks of ice rolled around the empty glass with a brittle noise as she swirled it in her hand, thinking. After a pensive moment she looked up at him, eyes shadowed under dark lashes, her expression penetrative.

“Is she worth it?”

Aster looked back at her, but his answer was almost for himself. 

“Yeah,” he said quietly. Feralina nodded, satisfied, and Aster sank into his thoughts. 

_ One more lie. Just this one more lie, this last thing, and then I’ll be free and clear. I’ll be able to take my time, figure everything out, find the right opportunity to talk to her about all this. Once we get through the concert, everything will be fine. _

He leaned his head against the welcoming high back of the booth, talking himself through things and trying to ignore the small voice plucking at him, tugging guilty strings in the back of his mind. Irritably, he silenced it. He had to be practical about this. No, he didn’t feel fantastic about adding more lies and secrecy to the situation, but at this point that was just what was necessary. Telling Yenna was out of the question, not now, not when he didn’t have time to prepare and so much was riding on it. She wouldn’t understand, couldn’t possibly--but if he could just get through this one thing, then maybe he could find a way to tell her that she  _ would _ understand, somehow, if he could just plan it all out correctly. And as soon as this was over, there wouldn’t be any more pressure hanging over his head and he would find a way that would make it all work out, and  _ then _ he could talk to her. As soon as the time was right. 

Until then, he was just doing what needed to be done to keep them both safe and unhurt--even if it was a little distasteful. 

He took a deep breath, forcing himself to relax and sink into the booth, worn soft and welcoming by years of patrons, years of bodies pressing it into a pliant, accommodating shape. He would find a way to take care of all of this. 

He would.

_ Everything is going to be fine. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst, and lots of it! Did you catch the Dack Fayden cameo?


	4. IV. Coda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night of the concert arrives! A first kiss, a first duo, and the first hints of suspicion...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Using words on a page to describe what music sounds like is hard to do with any level verisimilitude. If it helps with visualization, the song I am picturing for this performance is Hello/Lacrimossa by The Piano Guys (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WZjFMj7OHTw).

Yenna finished putting on the last finishing touches to her outfit and tried to remember to take deep, steadying breaths like they used during prayer and meditation at her vernadi. She was standing in what the nice coordinator had referred to as a “powder room” in the Palasine Guildhall, looking into a large mirror under bright magelights and trying to keep calm as stage time approached. Honestly, she was glad it was almost time; the waiting was the worst part, and despite some lingering nervousness she actually felt surprisingly ready for this. She took one last look in the mirror to check that everything was in order. 

Green and gold powders decorated her eyes to match the leaf pendant earrings and necklace she wore, impossibly fine things of paper-thin green glass and gold filigree. Golden cuffs crafted to look like vines of ivy spiraled around her upper arms, sprouting the same delicate glass leaves. She had--with much time and struggle--put her long, kinky hair into a complex plait running at an angle across the top of her head and woven into an intricate knot at the base of her neck, threaded throughout with thin gold ribbons that hung in streamers down her back. A silk caparison split into broad green strips lay in soft arcs across her back and flanks like garlands, gathered into a thick, loose braid of cloth that ran along the length of her spine and down her tail. Finally, a long sleeveless tunic of rich sepia matched her fur and featured a gold brocade splashed along the hem, topped by a moss-green bodice embroidered with leaves--the bodice sported a heart-shaped neckline that was just a little too deeply cut for her comfort, but she’d been assured that it looked very sophisticated even if it made her feel somewhat exposed. 

And, deep in the stone labyrinth of the Azorius complex, a little chilly. 

Yenna thought that the entire thing made her look like an exotic bird, more like a child play-acting at going to a fancy dress party than like actual clothing. She had rarely, if ever, had a reason to make herself so...decorative. But several friends at her vernadi, clothiers and designers and jewelers, had picked it out for her with a great deal of care and consideration. Typically Selesnyans embraced their natural looks, and everyday guild members like her rarely went to so much effort to decorate themselves. Honestly, she hadn’t known how, and she was glad of her guildmates’ support. They’d all used words like “cultured” and “refined”, and “subdued yet elegant”. She still barely recognized herself, but there was little to do but trust their professional judgement, either at the time or certainly now. Although now that the entire affair was on, she supposed it did look nice as a whole outfit. It made her look ready to be at an upscale event like this, at least. She was glad her guild had been there to help; poor Aster presumably had to go through the whole process of what to wear on his own.

Yenna smiled. She always smiled when she thought about him. Despite their agreement to wait until after the concert to start any kind of official romantic relationship, unofficially things had felt different between them ever since that first evening at The Fiddlehead. Good different. He stood closer to her. When they weren’t talking, sometimes he reached out and took her hand for no reason. His voice sounded different when he said goodbye. He’d even started leaning in when she hugged him. He was still his normal reserved self, but there was something underneath it now, something that made her feel joyous and peaceful at the same time. 

She was glad he would be here with her tonight. 

That was a large part of why she was so much calmer this time than at the Sumala Fair two months ago. It certainly helped that she had played at a few venues since then--Aster had taken her around to several musician’s haunts and taverns with open stage nights to help her prepare--but mostly it was that she had someone to lean on, someone she trusted. That she didn’t feel alone.

Besides--this concert was the most prestigious event either she or Aster had ever played; it was an eminent performance, and there was a great deal of genuine excitement tumbling around with the butterflies in her stomach. If it went well, it would be a major achievement and could really help establish the trajectory for both of their music careers. 

_ When it goes well,  _ she corrected, determined to only think positive thoughts.

When she and Aster had started rehearsing, they had discussed their selection choices, and rather than play an established work they opted for the much more daring option of playing an original piece. There was a composition she had been working on for several months that was nearly finished, tentatively called  _ Lament of Rain _ . She had been reluctant at first, but Aster had convinced her to play it for him and insisted that it would be perfect. So they worked on it together, expanding what she had into a piece for two instruments. Although they almost immediately realized that she should be the one to take notation--since her music was in the neat, lovely script of the Selesnyan scribes and Aster’s handwriting looked like it was written by someone currently tumbling off a roof--things actually proceeded very quickly with Aster playing while she made adjustments and gave feedback and took notation. He had an ear for improvisation that she had never quite mastered, and an instinct for crafting the unexpected. Together they had managed to modify the piece, polish it, and practice it to be ready for the concert...although it had been a demanding three weeks to say the least. Yenna had spent nearly every hour of the day working on it, and she worried that it was somehow consuming even more of Aster’s life, as there had been several days when he had come to practice looking like he had just returned from running around the city all night. But he had assured her all was well, that he was still taking time out from composing to sleep, and in the end everything had gotten done just in time.

And now she was about to play an original piece, one they had composed together, to some of the upper crust of the city’s music world. 

With Aster.

She felt giddy, almost dizzy as she oscillated between troughs of pre-show jitters and lofty peaks of excitement, and forced several deep breaths to steadying herself reassurance. _This is it--this is where everything leads, where it starts. Where I’m supposed to be._

Satisfied that everything looked as nice and presentable as it ever would, Yenna smoothed the long folds of her tunic, plucked at it a little bit to make sure it wasn’t bunched up under her bodice--it wasn’t, but fussing at it gave her something to do with her hands--and picked up her shamisen. Letting her fingers move over the warm, worn wood and feeling the comfortable familiarity of it in her hands, she took a last deep breath.   
“You can do this,” she murmured to her reflection. “You’re ready, and Aster will be there…” She shook her hands rapidly, trying to make them feel loose, limber, and did a tiny little jog in place to keep her knees from locking up. “It’s going to be good.”

With a final nod to herself, she turned and headed out to the show.

The hallway was full of Azorius organizers, not bustling, exactly, but moving around backstage in a very efficient and purposeful manner. Yenna quickly backed up into a wall to avoid having a man with a very official-looking clipboard run into her--despite being half her size, she was convinced he would have bowled her over on impact through sheer determination. Weaving through the backstage area in a halting stop-start pattern to stay out of everyone’s path, she slowly made her way over to the right wing where the performers were assembled. Finally getting clear of all the onrushing organizers, she spotted Aster off to the side, finishing a conversation with another pair of performers. A quick burst of relief pulsed through her.

“Hey, Aster!” she called, trotting up behind him.

She had arrived just as the other performers walked off, and Aster turned toward her while still wishing them good luck, his attention divided. Then he seemed to actually see her, and he stopped, his expression suddenly a little awestruck. 

Yenna came to a halt in front of him, uncertain. “You’re staring,” she said after a long pause.

Her voice seemed to startle him awake, and he blinked, shook his head a little. “Sorry. I just…” He stopped and gave her a small smile, a lingering trace of wonder on his face. “You look amazing.”

She blushed fiercely and dropped her eyes, her ears swinging out to the side with pleasure. “Thank you,” she said quietly, trying to hide a smile before it got out of control. “You look really nice too.” 

And he did. Sharply creased pants were tucked into high brown boots with rolled tops and silver buckles along the calves. A muted blue shirt, finely tailored, ran up his chest to a fashionable stand-up collar decked in silver tracery, with wide cuffs in the same motif ending just below his elbows. An asymmetrical vest of fine coffee-colored leather covered one shoulder and fastened to one side with a row of silver clasps and laced cord. He’d lined his eyes with kohl, making them look even darker than usual, and a silver pendant the size of a fingernail hung from one ear, set with a glinting teardrop chip of blue labradorite.

Aster had his standout features, at least for her: she liked his high elven cheekbones and peaked ears, his eyes were the color of polished mahogany and reminded her of the groves deep in the parklands, and she was deeply drawn to the practiced, adept way his hands moved and the shifting muscles in his forearms. She had always found him attractive, even though she knew that wasn’t strictly the case. But now, sharply dressed and trimmed in silver, no one would argue he looked genuinely handsome. It made her feel breathless in a way that had nothing to do with the excitement of the concert.

She didn’t realize how long they had stood looking at each other until she heard the announcer take the stage and introduce the first act to a hush from the gathered assembly, heard the high notes of a piano arrangement of  _ Arrisende’s Nocturne in G♯  _ as the concert started _.  _ There was no more time for talking then, but Aster took her hand in silence and laced his fingers through hers and gave a squeeze. She glanced down at their hands, unadorned--no rings or bracelets to catch on the strings, no nail lacquers to chip off--calloused and strong from years of practice. Those two hands were a matched set, as if they were meant to be together. 

They waited through the other performances, half-heard through excitement and jitters, watching from behind the curtain without really seeing anything. Inside, Yenna’s mind churned like the clouds of a gathering storm, and her stomach was filled with bubbles. She glanced down at Aster, watching his chest rise and fall in slow, even waves, watched him staring impassively ahead, and wondered how he stayed so calm. 

_ Just naturally steady under pressure, I suppose,  _ she mused wistfully. She was glad he was next to her though--she might not be as poised as he was, but his presence was stabilizing, and she felt as though at least a bit of his reserve rubbed off on her. She hoped so anyway. It was almost time, and she wanted to hold her nerve with as much serenity as possible. It wouldn’t do to arrive at the big moment all rattled. 

The last act before them was finishing up, an elven aulos player performing  _ Razia’s Requiem.  _ As he moved into the final coda, Aster gave her a small nudge. 

“Better get ready,” he whispered, reaching for his gudalka and bow on the waiting table.

“Aster, wait,” she said quickly. He looked up at her, questioning, and she took a deep breath.  _ This is the moment. _

Leaning down, she kissed him. 

In the background, she heard the crescendo of music rising and thought that it might just be in her heart. Her blood surged, sending heat rushing through her body. She wasn’t entirely certain what to do, but she felt fine, more than fine, just being as she was--so she held his lips with hers, warm, pliant, tasting just faintly of salt. For a moment he seemed frozen, not moving as if too unsure of what move he ought to make. But after a heartbeat or two he kissed her back, drawing gently on her bottom lip; her mouth parted as she involuntarily released the breath she hadn’t known she was holding. Watching for his reaction, she pulled back, noticing that he leaned forward after her a fraction, as if his instinct was to follow. Far away, the music faded and a round of applause rose into the air.

Aster’s dark eyes were wide, and he swallowed. “What was that for?” he asked quietly, finding his tongue at last.

She met his gaze openly, unafraid. “For luck.” 

Normally she would have qualified her response, couched it carefully--but in that moment she didn’t feel the need. For all the awkward things she had done, he had never applied an ounce of criticism. With him, she felt the confidence that came with security--he had promised she could trust him, and she knew it was true. So she stood by what she had done.

She wouldn’t have minded doing it again, actually. 

“Oh,” he said quietly. She could tell he was searching for a response. Finally, he managed, “They say you’re not supposed to wish someone luck before a show.”

“Would you rather I hadn’t?” she asked, her voice soft but not uncertain.

He shook his head. “No.” He reached up, hesitant, as if worried he would frighten her away, then cupped his hand to her face, brushing his thumb along her cheek. Her eyes fluttered closed of their own accord, and she nuzzled into his palm. “I’ll risk it,” she heard him murmur.

In the distance the applause died down, and their names were suddenly there in the announcer’s clear tones. Feeling his hand withdraw, Yenna opened her eyes and looked at Aster. 

“Ready?” he asked, grabbing his instrument from the table.

Yenna nodded and did the same, feeling her shamisen fit into her grip like holding hands with an old friend. Old friends and new--it was much less frightening to be here with someone, someone good. In fact, all of this felt good. Right. Like everyone and everything was exactly where they were supposed to be. 

“As I’ve ever been,” she answered.

Step for step, they walked out onto the stage. 

Both of them went to the front, bowed neatly, and took their places. Yenna had a momentary twinge when she saw the audience rolled out before her, the beautiful and expensive evening wear of invited guests planted among an expanse of Azorius formal blue and white, but she forced herself to concentrate on the task at hand. She slipped the strap of the shamisen over her head, arranging the instrument against her hip and quickly glossing over the strings, tuning them with minute adjustments to the pins. Just a few final-second checks to make sure everything was in place… 

Releasing a long breath, Yenna opened her perception just a fraction and allowed a single stream of the worldsong to flow in around her. She heard the sounds of the audience, dozens of breaths bated in anticipation. She heard Aster’s harmony shifting as he raised his bow, the noise of a single beam of moonlight falling into a dim room, piercing through the shadows. She heard everything, everyone around her, and she felt the music rising inside her like a wellspring, nearly overflowing, connecting all of them in the way that a stream is connected to the ocean. A swell of nearly religious ecstasy pulsed through her.

_ This moment is perfect. _

Yenna kept her face in a performance mask--but underneath, she smiled. 

Tapping a measure to set the tempo, they began.

The opening strains of a lament, as cool and smooth as marble. It was the sadness of high culture, refined to precision. A drawn out note of longing, waiting like a held breath.

The deep drumming notes dropping into the song like the first raindrops falling on stone as the storm begins, uneven but building. Like a soft sob, a low melody, the first cracks in the facade letting emotion come seeping out. The rhythm picked up speed, more raindrops pattering the ground, the tapping of a metronome beat marking time lost as the melody lifted into a high keen, grasping for something irreplaceable slipped beyond reach. 

Then, with the surge of clouds breaking loose into a deluge, the refrain pouring down over it all, a powerful torrent of strength and regret and repentance. The two parts blended together like rivers meeting, coiling around each other and soaring upward, the plummeting notes of rain and sorrow meeting the rising sound of resilience, the spiraling melody of clouds swirling in perfect whorls overhead as the storm moves over, beauty and sadness intertwined. The music built, growing and lifting into the sound of surmounting a precipice, standing at the peak of the tallest tower while the rain came down in a crescendo, while high notes circled above like glimmers of sunlight pressing back on the clouds, the courage to go on. 

A final burst of sound, all hope gathered into one glorious climax.

Then, even as the last uplifting chords lingered in the air, the minor tones of light exhausted, of remorse creeping back in to reclaim a broken heart, and once more the plucked beat of raindrops, sending rippling echoes across water gathered in forlorn pools. The melancholy of day fading into storm-ridden dusk as the opening lament returned and the walls closed in again. 

The final harmonies of elegant grief, all other notes departing until the last counterpoint lingered in solitude.

Perfect silence.

Then a crashing peal of applause. Yenna blinked and came back to herself to a sea of clapping guests and the sounds of joy and approval rushing through the worldsong. Instinctively, she did her best to keep her face in a staid expression suitable for an experienced performer, but her smile was so strong that it forced its way through the cracks, and she found herself grinning like a child. She felt someone take her hand and looked over at Aster as he led them in a synchronized bow; in the worldsong he carried the bright sound of a full moon striking off the ocean waves. He was happy. The crowd was happy.

It was all she could do not to tear up a little.

Completely numb, she managed to get herself off the stage and out of the way before bursting into an Izzet firecrackler of excitement, clapping her hands over her mouth to catch the rampant, irrepressible squealing. Aster wisely shuffled her away from the performance and into a relatively empty back corridor, where she could no longer contain a series of crow hops and bucks and pirouettes like a dog chasing its tail. She swept him up into a hug--maybe a little too tight, as he made a noise like a bellows being pumped--then released him only to grab his shoulders and make a number of wordless, ecstatic yells at him in delight. Reserved as he was, even he seemed caught up in the celebration, laughing and beaming with her. And he was very tolerant of the next several minutes of wildly enthusiastic babbling. She tried to restrain herself, but it was a hopeless task: the words just poured out of her like floodwaters through a broken dam, animated recapping of everything that had just happened full of wild exclamations to pepper the story. And she needed to touch him, to take his hand, or put her hand on his shoulder, or hold onto his forearm, because she was sure that if she didn’t have some kind of physical contact to keep her grounded she would float off like a fair balloon. Finally--finally--the burst pipe of her excitement began to run dry, her uncontained energy going from a spring flood gushing, to a steady stream, to a trickle. At last, the words came to stop, leaving her breathing hard and smiling as if she had just finished a long run across the parklands, but silent.

Aster--who hadn’t even bothered trying to get a word in for several minutes--smiled tolerantly and raised an eyebrow.

“Better?” he asked.

“For now,” she answered, feeling cheeky. A thrill went through her and she gave a tiny crow hop, pivoting on her forelegs so she stood alongside him. “I suppose we should try to be presentable so we can go out and mingle.”

“Probably,” he said with a sage nod, his eyes elven-bright. “They’re going to want to meet the virtuoso who composed that piece.”

She took his hand warmly. “Then they’re going to want both of us. You deserve this too, you know.” He looked at her as if he didn’t quite agree, and she squeezed his hand. “Okay?”

After a second, he squeezed back. “Okay,” he agreed.

“That’s the way,” she said, giving him a playful chuck on the shoulder.

He shook his head at her, not quite hiding a smile. “Let’s go meet our public then.”

The final song of the concert echoed through the hall as they walked back up to the staging area. To her surprise, she wasn’t nervous about meeting all of the rarefied guests out beyond the edge of the stage. Maybe because she had been trying to get out there and expose herself to the world outside her vernadi--she had met so many nice people of the last several weeks, people who had been fun and appreciative and helpful, who had taught her that Selesnyan or no, most everyone was basically good and no one to be nervous about. Maybe it was because she really was proud of what she had done for this concert--it was as hard as she had ever worked for a show, and the payoff had been well worth the blistered fingers and long nights. Maybe it was because she had been half-in the worldsong and had felt the heart of her music reaching the hearts of everyone around her, felt something deep seated and intrinsic and real come alive in response to the song, and had been able to speak to them in a way that didn’t require the confusion and imprecision of conversation. 

She felt Aster’s hand in hers, warm and strong, adorned with rough spots like battle scars earned through years of practice.

_ Might be the company, too.  _

She pressed her fingers to her lips to keep from smiling like an idiot. It worked a little. She saw Aster looking at her.

“What?” he asked.

She shook her head, still smiling behind her hand. “Nothing. I’m just...I’m really happy. And I’m glad you’re here with me.”

Hearing that seemed to take his voice away. He just nodded wordlessly, emotion flashing close beneath the surface, and squeezed her hand tight.

Then the doors were opened, the performers all came out for a curtain call, and then waded in among the invitees like soldiers meeting an enemy line. Very quickly, Yenna was glad Aster had taken her to the Fiddlehead: not only was it good practice, but without that experience to prepare her she was certain that, newfound confidence or no, she would have been reduced to meek one-word stutters within twenty minutes. She also would have accepted one of the proffered glasses of fine vintage wine, but remembering how much more difficult it was to focus with a drink in hand--not to mention the headache that had cracked her skull like a Gruul axe the morning after the Izzet-Fizzit--she decided it was better to stay sober for the evening. As it was, she managed to keep her head and keep hold of the conversations. Fortunately, no one here was as boisterous or insistent as the Fiddlers, even if they did ultimately ask a lot of the same questions. She didn’t even feel too agitated when she was intermittently separated from Aster; both she and the crowd were calm enough that she simply took advantage of her height to look over the ballroom and pick him out from the tangle of evening gowns, formal uniforms, and dress coats, giving a quick ear to the worldsong to pinpoint him when she couldn’t spot him. Whenever she caught his eye, he nodded and smiled, and she felt ready for the next round of interested well-wishers.

There were many. By the time an hour had passed, she’d had three people solicit her as potential patrons for commission and twice as many approached her to play at various events. When she and Aster crossed paths and were able to find a moment to compare notes, she found that his night was going much the same--although, against her efforts, he was still sending everyone who asked about composing directly to her. Still, there was little opportunity for her to address it in the moment; every time they came together in the flow of people, the motion would shift and wash them apart again to distant corners of the crowd. 

_ It’s alright,  _ she thought.  _ It’s not like this will be our last concert together--we can always work on that later. _

At some point, Yenna found herself at the base of an elegant tapered pyramidal column, trapped by one person after another. First there was an unguilded leader of the Masons and Metalworkers’ Union who wanted her to come perform for a high-end dinner function, then an older Azorius woman with short silver hair and shrewdly pale blue eyes, a retired judge who had once been a flutist of some renown and had a number of questions about a specific rhythmic motif from  _ Lament of Rain,  _ then--blessedly--a staff member who passed by her with a tray of dough pockets stuffed with brussels sprouts and soft cheese folded into the shape of flowers, of which Yenna unabashedly ate four because she hadn’t had a chance to actually get to the food-laden banquet tables, and then a distinguished Boros Captain with a bushy mustache and a figure moving toward portliness who initially wanted to congratulate her, but then wanted to wax political about the current situation with the Gruul in Precinct Three, a topic that she was somewhat uncomfortable with--as was typically the case when the Gruul came up in conversation--but which he unfortunately had no trouble discussing at length with virtually no input and many blatantly missed clues coming from her. When he was finally called away, she darted off the moment his back was turned, actually using the column as cover to escape. It wasn’t her most dignified moment, perhaps, but she felt that if one more person pinned her into a conversation without a break, her brain would start to run out of her ears like syrup flowing over the edge of a stack of pancakes.

Even the Fiddlehead could only prepare a person for so much.

Moving toward the nearest and least obvious empty space in the hall, she found herself leaning against the rising stone ramp of a stairway, somewhat off to the side but still grand. The walls of the stairway were tiled in a blue and white mosaic of intricate geometry, picked out with small triangular insets of silver. It was lovely, and more important, refreshingly cool as she leaned her cheek against it and caught her breath. As she gathered herself, she wondered where Aster was--it was a little hard to keep track of time, but she felt as though she hadn’t spoken to or even seen him among the crowd in some time. 

_ I hope he didn’t get locked into a conversation about tax laws or zoning statutes, _ she thought grimly. Carefully peeking through the baluster, she scanned the ballroom, but she couldn’t spot him from where she was, and she currently had a strong impulse not to abandon her secure position without certainty. No matter. Letting her focus shift sideways, she tuned herself to the worldsong, listening for his unique combination of sounds and rhythms. She heard it almost immediately; with all the time they had been spending together she could now pinpoint his harmonic aura almost as easily as members of her vernadi. 

However, she was startled to realize that the source of the sound was not in the grand ballroom, but somewhere behind her on the upper floors of the guildhall. She turned back to look in that direction, frowning in confusion.  _ Why would he be up there?  _ That didn’t make any sense. She was fairly certain that guests weren’t even allowed in that part of the building during the Banquet…

So what was Aster doing there?

Something felt off. Wrong. She could easily grab one of the Azorius officiants, ask them to go check--but what if they were upset that he was somewhere off limits? And more importantly, why  _ was _ he somewhere off limits? What was going on? Yenna chewed her lower lip, indecisive. Putting her full attention on the worldsong, she focused on him. His harmonics had gone dark, the sound of shadows in empty rooms of stone, the sound of tides and currents moving deep below the surface of the sea, the sound of soft footfalls and careful gestures beneath a moonless sky. There was a steadiness to the melody, surety, a single-minded determination, and the relentless fluidity of water pouring over stone and finding the smallest crack to flow through.

Yenna found that she was breathing faster, her heart rushing through its beats in her chest. Something definitely felt wrong. She stole another glance through the balustrade--no one seemed to notice she was gone. Then she turned her eyes back toward Aster, toward where he had gone. The stairs led to a grand promenade encircling the ballroom, with another floor above that and a fourth floor capping that one. But beyond the public area, vanishing rows of four-centered arches led back into unlit corridors, into...where?

Suddenly, Yenna came to a decision. 

Jaw set, she turned and kept walking along the stairway, away from the ballroom and into a wide corridor to another great room. There would be another stairway she could take, one less conspicuous, one located far away from the guests--and from the Azorius. And with one ear to the worldsong, she was fairly certain she could avoid running into anyone who might be patrolling the halls, avoid having them run into her. She kept her gaze resolutely forward as she moved into a second hall, this one cloaked in blue and grey shadows that did little to foil the eyes of a centaur, and began looking for a way upstairs.

Something was wrong--and she was going to find out what.


	5. V. Finale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aster goes full Dimir to pull off his heist during the Azorius Banquet, trying to finish the job without Yenna finding out. But are his cunning and competence enough to fool someone who loves him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Footnotes:
> 
> Axis -- A clandestine Dimir hub for exchanging goods and services, either requisitioning supplies for missions, dropping off acquisitions, or leaving messages for other Household members. Agents are given a designated Axis to use, but generally know a few others in their area where they can go if necessary  
> Kaer -- Roughly equivalent to fella or buddy, one of many slang terms meaning a generally good guy or someone reliable

No one stopped Aster as he ducked into the small tangle of rooms and corridors behind the stage area. They had no reason to--no need to stop one of the performers from going back into the dressing room, or what served as one. No need to notice at all. And so he was able to slip in and shut the door behind him with barely a glance from anyone. Stepping into the far corner so he wouldn’t immediately be visible, he quickly started changing his outfit. The single-sleeved vest, wildly fashionable in Favarial this year, was unbuttoned, folded carefully, and tucked into a pack next to his instrument case. The stiff collar and cuffs of his shirt, encrusted with intricate, glimmering whorls of silver filigree, were removable and ended up tucked into his pack alongside the vest. He pulled off his dress boots and set them aside, exchanging them for soft-soled stalking boots, polished on top to look like passable footwear for an event like this, but infinitely more flexible and quieter. A small spell took the sharp dress crease out of his pants; a second minor spell wiped the kohl from his eyes. His earring went into a pocket, for later. Finally, he gave his hair a quick ruffle and finger-comb to both make it less formally neat and to conceal the pointed tips of his ears--less distinct overall. 

Glancing in the mirror, Aster checked to see that he hadn’t forgotten anything, then nodded to himself, satisfied. He looked exactly put together enough that no one would question his presence, and no more; there was nothing notable about him, nothing to catch the eye or stick in the memory. He looked like nobody.

Good.

Digging into his music case, Aster first grabbed a small musician’s toolkit in a flat bifold satchel and dropped it into his pocket. Then he reached back into the case and felt with his fingers for the edge of the concealed compartment along the cloth backing, nearly impossible for anyone to see or even feel unless they already knew it was there. The compartment contained a few mission supplies from his local Axis*, which operated under the guise of an upmarket pawn shop in Travosh. He pulled out a sheaf of magical transcription parchment and an ordinary looking key, dropped the key down the leg of one boot and tucked the parchment into the other, then tugged the hems of his pants down to lay loosely over the outside. 

Ready. 

He walked over to the door to the corridor and held his breath, listening for the handful of brisk footsteps to recede before smoothly opening the door and walking out. Glancing around, he saw that the corridor was mostly empty but that someone had been kind enough to leave a clipboard lying on a table; he scooped it up and, after a quick look to make sure it wasn’t anything someone would be frantically looking for, placed it under his arm. Taking up his familiar purposeful yet mundane gait, he strode down the corridor and into one of the staff entrances.

He had thoroughly prepared for this job--probably more than was needed, honestly, but he wanted to be as ready as possible. Tonight of all nights, he wanted to make sure there weren’t any surprises.

A week ago he’d gone in to the Azorius Office of Zoning and Planning, a place so soul-crushingly boring that if they kept prisoners there it would legally be torture, and gotten down into the file archives. It was simple enough; he’d been to the OZP plenty of times, and they thought he was an unguilded public works contractor, so they’d basically waved him through with only a cursory glance at his credentials. And being granted access to the restricted blueprints--a collection of key public buildings, guild holdings, and the private estates of some of Ravnica’s most high-profile citizenry--was as easy as telling the duty attendant that a local Izzet lab was seeping some sort of noxious purple ichor and needed to install a new interior retaining wall. With a chiding tsk tsk and yet another cursory glance at his paperwork the man had been happy to let him through, more than willing to believe that someone else’s guild had been entangled by their own negligence. 

From there, it was an easy task to apply some magical transcription paper and make a copy of the Palasine guildhall blueprints, which he had taken home, memorized to the last detail with the aid of a mind amplification spell, and then burned. He couldn’t wait until the memory burned off in a few days as well; using amplification spells to create perfect recall always gave him bizzare dreams about the object in question, and he didn’t care to have another dream where he went to the bakery and all the sweet rolls were just blueprint diagrams of pastries.

Side effects or no, with the blueprints memorized he knew all the back corridors, staff passages, and standing security measures installed in the building. Not every guild was so meticulous about recording their security systems on what were technically public documents--a policy that had certainly killed more than one unsuspecting Izzet apprentice and Rakdos architect--but the Azorius did without fail. After all, why shouldn’t they? Supremely confident in their own security and superiority, they believed the records would be kept safe in their guild centers. 

Of course, if they  _ weren’t _ safe--if it  _ were _ possible for someone to gain access to the location where they were kept--then it would just be a collection of valuable information conveniently gathered in one place. Very organized. Very helpful. After all, getting all his information at once made it much easier to plan ahead.

Aster walked down the service corridors toward the sound of voices, where he knew he would find the kitchens and management offices, including the one he was looking for. Rounding a corner, he entered a bustling back area filled with logistics organizers, event planners, maitre’d, and a handful of low-level Azorius functionaries in striking blue and white wading through the crowd of mostly unguilded hire-ons. Everyone was milling around, those staff involved in preparing and bringing out food weaving double-time through the clusters of people who had been brought on to run the concert itself, and, with that portion of the evening over, were now getting underfoot and occasionally sneaking an hors d'oeuvre off one of the elegant platters. The few Azorius were moving around like overstressed herding dogs trying to drive a particularly unwieldy flock of sheep, attempting to coordinate the chaos behind the scenes.

It wasn’t difficult to get through the crowd; a few mousy “pardon me’s” and the clipboard out in front of him like the prow of a ship parting the waters and he was in the right area. To the right, he spotted the door he needed. It was hanging ajar, but the engraved title plaque was still visible:  **Havlan Zakosh--Curopalate** . Aster happened to know that the esteemed Mister Zakosh wasn’t in his office, since he had seen the man just a few minutes ago standing at the kitchen entrance overseeing the chefs. But he had also been confident that the curopalate would leave his office door open, in case one of the many organizers needed access to facility information. Even for Azorius, convenience overtook strict propriety at some point--especially with a crowd of potentially capricious guests waiting in the next room. 

Affecting the stride of a man with one more irritating chore recently put on his plate, Aster paced across the floor and into the open room. It wasn’t a terribly small office, but three of the walls were taken up by a two-corner desk that ate nearly all the space in the room. Lined with drawers and bridging half a dozen plain file cabinets, the surface of the desk was covered in papers, checklists of human, service, and supply requirements for tonight’s event. Clearly, things had been busy.

_ Hopefully they’ll stay busy for another few minutes. _

Looking among the strata of papers, Aster quickly spotted what he was looking for. Glancing out the glass wall of the office for any potential disruptions, he grabbed the ring of spare keys, sorting through them with his right hand while fishing the Axis key out of his bootleg with the left. As expected, the keyheads were neatly labelled in ink--an overseer of a guildhall this size would have a massive set of keys and would frequently need to give the spares to underlings or managers; it would be hugely inefficient to have to sort through them every time. Thumbing through the heavy ring as quietly as possible, Aster isolated the one for the third floor offices and pressed the key from his boot against it.

His Spider Key shuddered, the metal surface flexing and rippling as it changed to take on the exact shape as the key on the ring. In seconds, he held a perfect duplicate. As soon as the Spider Key stilled, he leaned down and dropped it back into his boot.

_ Now to head upstairs and put this whole imbroglio to bed. Then I can get back to the party with Yenna and actually enjoy the night a little.  _ He wondered if she would say yes to going somewhere with him afterward...maybe the Fiddlehead? No, somewhere nicer, somewhere special.  _ I wonder how late those Ovitzian tea houses are open… _

“Hey, what are you doing in here?”

Aster was practiced enough that he resisted the urge to start, to snap his head up at the sound of the voice. Instead, bent over from replacing the Spider Key in his boot, he made as if leaning over the desk poring through the sheets of paper that blanketed it, shuffling a few sheets with his hands to mask surreptitiously tapping his foot, jostling his pant leg to fall back into place.

“I’m looking for the master maintenance supply list,” Aster muttered as if terribly preoccupied. Only then did he look up, his face a tired, bland mask. 

The man was Azorius, wearing official robes in guild colors that had probably been very neatly pressed when he got here. Now, the slightest hint of  _ disheveled _ was creeping in at the edges, both on the clothes and on the man. A badge perched on a fold of stiff sky-blue outer robes identified him as a senior coordinator. No surprise there; only people of a certain rank demanded to know what other people were doing somewhere in that tone. 

_ Senior coordinator--delegates to others and already paid his dues, probably not inclined to dirty his hands with gruntwork.  _

Aster sighed and straightened up, pressing his hands to his lower back in a way that said it was already a very long night. “You don’t happen to know if we have any spill-sand that’s aether-absorbing, do you? I’m supposed to be helping with custodial and one of those damned  _ artists _ ,” he used the same tone most people would use to say ‘sewage slugs’, “brought a bottle of some kind of enchanted liqueur in back and got it everywhere. It smells like mint schnapps fell into an Izzet power refinery.” He shook his head, playing into the naturally forlorn cast of his face and looking as afflicted as possible. “I just hope it got spilled out of a bottle and not someone’s stomach,” he groaned.

“I...uh, I think you want Pari,” the senior coordinator said rather quickly, his expression screaming about how badly he didn’t want to be involved, and how he was regretting coming over here. Aster had found that involving a cleanup of hypothetical magic booze vomit had that effect on a lot of people--it wasn’t the first time he’d used this excuse. He maintained his broken look as the man hurried to pass the parcel onto someone else. “She’s over by the West Hall Staff Suite, I’m sure she can get you whatever you need.”

“Thanks,” Aster said, affecting less thankfulness and more resignation. As he took half a step away from the desk, his elven nose picked up a faint whiff of tobacco and hyssop clinging to the coordinator’s clothes. Of course, no self-respecting Azorius would come stocked to such an upscale event.

_ So to put the final pin in place… _

Reaching into his pocket, Aster pulled out a small tin and flipped it open with his thumb, revealing a single lonely djag. The man’s eyes lit up just a fraction.  _ Bullseye. _ “Hey, you want this?” he asked. “It was going to nip out for a smoke, but I don’t think I’ll have the time.” He shrugged, holding it out to the somewhat frazzled Azorius. “Someone might as well enjoy it.”

The man considered refusing for a split-second before caving in like Aster knew he’d always been going to do. “Thanks,” he said just a little too eagerly as he took the djag in a gentle, almost loving hold with practiced fingers. 

Obviously, the coordinator was unaware that Aster didn’t smoke and that this particular tin always had just one djag in it. It always paid to make people think they were getting his only one; it made them favorable toward his vague memory and much less inclined to ask any follow-up questions in his wake. After all, he’d given them his last djag--he was clearly a good and trustworthy kaer*, and digging into his story would just be rude at that point. 

The coordinator felt the same, whether he knew it or not--when the man tucked the pale little spindle of rolled paper carefully inside one of the deeper layers of his clothing, Aster knew he was in the clear. 

“Well, better get going,” Aster said tiredly, making for the door. 

The Azorius stepped aside, letting him pass with a sympathetic nod. “Good luck.”

“Ugh. Thanks. And for the help.”

The man stepped out after him and locked the door. Good instincts, but too little, too late--Aster had already gotten everything he needed. “Of course.” Then he was off. The last Aster saw of the senior coordinator was the man trying to look casual while dodging through the crowded staff like a goblin on fire, trying to find a path to sneak out and enjoy his smoke. Meanwhile Aster turned and, much less obtrusively, took himself out of the room.

_ Done and done. _

Getting upstairs while avoiding the guards was fairly easy; the information from the blueprint was still firmly wedged in his brain and he walked to the stairwell he needed as if he worked there every day. The intended effect, of course. And even the staff stairwells at the sides of the building were made of crisp, smooth stone that echoed nicely under the clipping bootsteps of Azorius guards, and gave a clear alert they were coming to anyone listening. Other than having to quietly duck out at a landing to let a patrolling pair descend past him, he got to the third floor without incident. Pressing himself against the wall next to a protruding stone door jamb--a ponderous edifice with pretentions toward authority and molding at the corners bearing the concentric circle-triangle motif of the Azorius crest--he listened carefully for any sound of this floor’s guard. When everything came up silent, he leaned out, took a quick glance to confirm the hallway was empty, then darted across the floor with only soft, padding footsteps from the stalking boots. A faint reflection ran with him under the mirror-polished floor as he turned right, then left, pausing at the corners to check for the patrol and rolling each footfall like a hunting cat. Finally he turned into a wide, empty hallway dotted with alcoves, each featuring a white marble bust of some important personage.

The Judges’ Corridor.

It wasn’t his first time down this route: he’d been here to the guildhall to scout everything out days ago. The blueprints he took gave layout and security, but not the locations of any specific person, and the last thing he wanted was to spend too long away from Yenna and the party because he had to search for the right offices. So he’d come in under the guise of getting paperwork to file a request for an injunction. He knew no one would remember him--they never did, and he had made an effort to be as unmemorable as possible in his least remarkable clothes and blandest persona. He hadn’t been referred to Judge Tova’s offices, which would have been too much of a break to hope for, but it didn’t matter. He’d taken note of how the suite was arranged, where the main desks were, where there were closed doors, and everything else he needed. The Azorius loved their order and procedures, and a quick comparison with the layout seared into his mind told him that if he’d seen one suite, he’d essentially seen them all. 

As for finding the right suite in the first place, Judge Tova’s name and office number were conveniently listed on one of a large grid of small bronze plaques at the top of the stairwell, each one engraved in matching precise typography. Finding the right path through the Azorius maze of bureaucracy could be an absolute mess, but finding the right path through their physical spaces was ludicrously easy as long as you knew what to look for. 

Slinking along the corridor, Aster tucked himself into the recessed alcove in the wall, crouching behind the broad pyramidal column displaying the marble bust of Arbitrator Someone-or-Other while he prepared the next steps. He would have liked to set up a scrying spell on the bust to watch for patrols--busts or anything with the appearance of eyes had good sympathetic resonance for magical observation, and it was well-positioned to watch the door for him. But in the middle of an empty Azorius guildhall where there was no activity to help obscure it from anyone looking, none of the workday movement and their own magics to clutter things, no distractions... He was capable of keeping his spellwork concealed to a degree, but you could never be certain how closely their patrolling arresters might be looking, depending on personal diligence and on how hard they were trying for a promotion. It was best to keep his own magic minimal, and close. 

Focusing, he murmured a quick collage of fluid, numinous syllables and shrouded himself in a dampening spell, feeling it wrap around his skin like a cocoon of cool mist. It was minor enough magic that it was unlikely to draw any attention or trigger any alarms, and the spell would muffle any evidence of his passing as long as he was careful. As with most magic, mystic sympathy was important; dampening spells would enhance the actions of someone trying to be stealthy, but they tended to fray if you just strolled around as normal without any attempt at concealment, since there was little there for them to enhance. More than one overconfident young spellcaster had been caught that way. Only a very powerful spell would hide evidence of a person’s passage with no effort on their part, more powerful than anything Aster could produce without a huge expenditure of time and energy, and even then he would only have been able to hold it for a few minutes. Large, flashy magics weren’t his style regardless--he preferred spells as a subtle complement to trained skill.

Completing the spell, Aster stilled as he heard the sharp report of footsteps rounding the corner at the far end of the wide hallway, measured and diligent. He pressed himself against the flat planes of the column, breathing slowly in time with her echoing stride and waiting for her to pass by. Even without the aid of scrying, Aster could imagine the guard’s type: upright, stolid, and secretly disappointed to be patrolling the silent corridors instead of being on duty down in the main ballroom where all the important personages were. If the woman had been Boros she might have been on higher alert--when Boros guards were bored and alone, they spent all their time daydreaming about fighting people, imagining scenarios where they might get to catch a criminal and, Sunhome willing, that person would resist arrest. Boros guards were  _ twitchy _ . 

Fortunately, the Azorius lacked imaginations entirely, and the woman passed along her route with a precise pace that gave Aster a good idea of when she would make it back this way again. He heard her round the corner at the end of the hall, picking up the slight difference in the clip of her boots when a wall came between the two of them, and waited a few moments more to let her get some distance. Then he slipped out of his hiding place and padded carefully across the polished stone. 

With the dampening spell in place to reduce any evidence of his presence, he crossed the hallway as soundlessly as an owl and crouched in front of the door. Checking both ways down the corridor to ensure he was still alone, he summoned a quick suppression spell into his right hand and pressed his palm against the lock, pushing the magic through his veins and out the front of his hand until it enveloped the metal lock mechanism, temporarily smothering the basic security spells set at the end of the night. Holding two spells at once required a certain amount of focus, but it helped that the desired effects--covering up signs of his presence and covering up the effects of the security system--were in tandem. Besides, he only needed a moment. Satisfied that the alarms were quelled, he pulled the Spider Key out of his boot, inserted it, and twisted. 

The bolt slid smoothly aside.

He quickly stepped inside the dark office, closing the door behind him. He had to leave it unlocked, or else the security spells would all reactivate and set off a cavalcade of alarms. A little unnerving, but statistically not a real threat: it wasn’t like anyone would be coming around trying the doorknobs, as long as he didn’t give them a reason to investigate. He was more worried about simply getting in and getting done with this mess.

Eyes adjusting, he took in the space. It was dark--the wide windows on the outside-facing wall were all contained in a handful of large offices important enough for a place with a commanding view of the surrounding city. The office faces were mostly glass so the occupants could keep a watchful eye on their subordinates, but rigged with spells to obscure the interiors at the convenience of the Azorius high and mighty. Currently the windows were clouded over for the night; Aster could barely make out the dusky pinkish glimmer of the moon Haeja filtering through the curtains at the rear of the nearest office. There was just enough ambient light to see the surroundings, for him anyway, but he needed to see things the eye alone wouldn’t show. 

Closing his eyes for a moment to focus, he held out a hand and curled his fingertips, a beckoning pull to draw mana from in and around him, gathering the energy in the cupped palm of his hand until it ignited into a tiny sphere of blue light. 

It took concentration to hold a revealing spell at the same time as the dampening spell, trying to unveil one thing while obscuring another--a bit like patting your head while rubbing your stomach--but Aster had been going to music teachers since he was nine. He knew the value of practice, of repeating an action over and over until it became memory, then instinct. With no need to watch for guards in the enclosed space, he was able to focus on feeding and shaping mana between the two spells, adjusting them to equilibrium like the ends of a wire-walker’s balance pole until they hit a rhythm, synchronized. Once both spells were in a stable gyre against each other, he opened his eyes.

The light of the  _ oraculous _ was faint, like moonlight filtering down through depths of blue water, softer and much more diffuse than a candle and just brushing the surroundings. 

Until the light touched something magic. 

Suddenly the room was frosted with reams of glimmering blue runes, drinking in the faint light and phosphorescing like Simic water gardens. Strict, interlocking lines of Azorius spellcraft ran in arabesque scrollwork around doorways, locks, windows, floors, over glass and metal and stone. The aqueous light and illuminated runes made the room feel submerged, like a sunken wreck lost below the waves, and a stoic Azorius bloc became--in the flood of hundreds of points of unveiled magic--unexpectedly beautiful.

If he was honest with himself: as much as he hadn’t wanted to do this in the first place, this was always a part of the job Aster enjoyed. Seeing the magic revealed around him, resonating in the unreal light, the danger of the whole affair receded back into the distance. For a moment, it felt like this space was the world and he was the only person in it, a place only he could see. A gift. 

The  _ oraculous _ was the first spell the Green Lady had shown him, in a dream of water and moonlight that had come to him when he was barely more than a child. It was less than a year after his dad had passed; his three younger siblings were still sleeping in the big bed with his mother at the time, and his older brother and sister were in the room downstairs so they could leave for work in the mornings without waking anyone up--he often ended up in an empty room, unable to sleep. So he would practice his magic. He had worked on summoning the  _ oraculous _ for weeks, calling it up for as long as he could each night before drifting off, then trying to hold it a moment longer the next night, and a moment longer the night after that. Not because he had to do it, which he had felt about so many things at the time, but because he wanted to. Because it made him feel...something. Comforted. Peaceful. 

He still called it up sometimes at night, when his mind wouldn’t let him fall asleep.

Blinking off his reverie, he came back to the process of studying his surroundings. The doors were heavy, and heavily laden with magics for security and privacy, liberal with protective spells; all bore a bronze nameplate, including one which read “Judge Masech Tova”, and all were closed. Aster ignored them. No one at this level kept their documents in their own offices; that’s what underlings and a sophisticated filing system were for. The owners of those offices likely wielded a great deal of power over the Ravnicans in their precinct, but in their absence that power rested somewhere else entirely. 

Sending the  _ oraculous _ a few feet ahead of him, Aster followed the undulating light deeper into the labyrinth. He moved carefully through the warrens of subdivided spaces split by canvas screens, squeezed full of desks for aides, attendants, and lesser legal minds who served at the Judges’ orders, the aisles forming a clear gulf between the two levels of status. Weaving among desks as neat as pins, with papers in even stacks on the corners and leatherbound dossiers piled into columns like legislative layer cakes, Aster was confident in his goal--when he’d come in for that injunction, he had purposefully made his request as complex and therefore as paperwork-heavy as possible, ensuring that he would be shuffled to at least three different coordinators to get all the files he needed. The files were in a satchel in a hidden compartment at his apartment, because you never knew what doors an official form with a properly forged signature might open. And thanks to all the bureaucratic back-and-forth, he had a very clear idea of where tonight’s objective was. 

He followed a corridor to where it made a T-junction with a wall, one of the real stone ones, not a canvas divider. Along the wall were several doors leading into back rooms, weighty things of actual wood strapped with iron bindings. They were unmarked, clearly saying that if you didn’t know which door was which then you weren’t nearly important enough to be opening any of them. Indeed, to the naked eye they looked imposing and identical.

But only one of them was warded like a fortress. 

Thickly encrusted with a rime of hieromantic runes, the second door from the end had spells piled around the doorframe, woven into the stone posts and lintels until they overlapped each other and formed a tight lace of shining blue. Aster leaned in and chewed his lip, guiding the  _ oraculous _ slowly over the area as he examined the magics. After several long, careful minutes had ticked by--it was better to go slowly in preparation than to have something go awry in execution--he nodded to himself. The door had an excess of runes on it, but none of the spells individually were particularly powerful, like putting multiple padlocks on a door instead of one very secure one. He could have broken through any of them individually, but doing so would trigger the others; not to mention that he needed to leave the place as he found it and not a blatant crime scene. Deactivating them one by one would avoid setting anything off, but it would also take all night, and that was without considering the time it would take to reset all of them.

Fortunately, he wasn’t planning to do either.

Aster let the dampening spell fall, for the moment--it suppressed evidence of his presence, but this deep in the back of the complex of rooms, there was no one who could notice him anyway unless they were already looking for him. And if they were, he’d have known: arresters were neither quiet nor subtle, and tended to declare themselves to criminals with dire pronouncements. As the spell dropped away, the unshrouded sigil of House Dimir now gleamed faintly beneath the skin of his hand under the  _ oraculous  _ light. Aster felt the release of effort as the clinging mist of the dampening spell evaporated from his skin, like a tensed muscle being relaxed. He let himself sink into it momentarily, refreshing himself with a quick breather. He needed both his concentration and his mana for what came next.

Directing the  _ oraculous _ to hover just in front of the centerpoint of the door, he knelt down at the lower left corner and placed his hands together, pressed flat against each other as if in prayer. Breathing in a steady rhythm like a mantra, Aster focused, pulling mana from his surroundings, pushing it outward from his blood and bones, molding it into an ever more tightly condensed mass of energy between his hands. Then, when the narrow gap between his palms was saturated with mana, beyond saturated, he let just the barest amount flow down like water dripping from the eaves. 

The second he was no longer holding it, the concentrated mana took shape with a whispered susurrus of chimes. The thin spill of magic jelled instantly into a perfectly flat plane the length of his palms that stood perpendicular from the wall, vellum-thin and brightly reflective as a mirror. A lustrous rainbow made entirely of shifting shades of blue undulated along the surface, like light on a film of soap.

Staring intently, Aster slowly drew his joined hands up from the anchor point, decanting a trickle of mana from his palms and letting it grow from the initial shape like an inverted icicle, lengthening it, stretching it taller. It went from the size of a playing card to a glass-smooth sheet of condensed mana the height of his knee, then his waist, forcing him to slowly rise to his feet in order to keep lifting his hands and building the long panel of rippling cerulean light. As it slid from his hands an inch at a time, surreal patterns flashed across its form under the light of the  _ oraculous _ , portentous lines and curves and whorls that interlaced somewhere between calligraphy and fractal geometries. 

The strange script had been given to Aster bit by bit by the Green Lady over the course of years, in dreams and songs and waking visions. The runes described the purpose of a spell, emphasizing it, empowering it, and his ability to create them gave him a crucial edge in a number of magics, not least of all dealing with security wards. Despite having handwriting so poor that it sometimes made people concerned for him, crafting the runes had always felt surprisingly intuitive, as if the shape of them were buried deep within his hands--his magic sometimes bore the marks, Her marks, even when he was barely conscious of making them. During practice, he had even found himself composing new forms out of the sigils, somehow  _ feeling  _ the shape they might take while barely understanding what they were. 

But there was none of that now, no trance-like states of revelation. Right now, he knew exactly what was needed, and he etched symbols of pure intent into the mana by heart. Sweat rolled from Aster’s temples down into his collar. He didn’t notice, didn’t have the spare thought to notice, all his attention on sculpting his exacting spellcraft. 

Energy coalesced into meticulous form. As he carefully drew his hands along, tracing the exact line where the door met the frame without quite touching either, the original shape gradually growing into a tall bar the height of the door. Then a sharp right angle to follow the top of the door, and it became a corner. Another sharp turn downward, and it grew into a three-sided flat arch like the door frame itself, then finally a long line across the bottom to seal the shape back where it started.

Stepping back, a few drops of sweat beaded on his forehead from the effort, Aster checked his work with a critical eye. A rectangular outline of solid, brilliantly reflective mana traced a pane around the door, hovering a fraction of an inch in front of it and exactly aligned with the hair’s breadth gap between door and frame. Everything looked correct, precise.  _ Moment of truth _ . Aster held his breath--a habit he had never shaken no matter how many times he had done this--as he placed his hands against the two vertical slats of the spell form and, with a sharp gesture of his fingers and a mental command,  _ pushed _ . As fast as light, the shimmering bracket flashed forward, slotting neatly between the door and its stone setting.

There was a soft flicker across the protective wards, like a ripple. 

Nothing triggered. 

Nothing flared. 

No alarms.

Aster released his breath in a hot rush of relief, slumping a little as tension went out of him. The basic spell was simply a reflective mana barrier. In a cruder shape like a shield, it could be used to block offensive magics; plenty of people and organizations applied some version of it for that purpose. But a smaller, more precise version like this one, when formed correctly with the exact structure to counter the spells involved and placed between a ward and its target, could bounce the security measures back on themselves. It fooled the protections into thinking they still had a closed loop around their mark, prevented them from triggering and left the target unsealed. A counter-ward. It was a much less commonly known--and less legal--application of the concept, used only by people who wanted to go through wards without leaving evidence of their passage. He had been trained to do it by an older Dimir named Kvana when he joined the guild, a former spell-scholar who had become a guild instructor in scrupulously exact countermagics. The basic form of the spell was hers; the runes were of course his, added over time and practice. He had only executed the spell incorrectly once on a job--due to sabotage, as it later turned out--but once was enough to always make him feel a little tense when he put the counter-ward into place. He had no desire to relive that experience, least of all tonight.

Still--and he barely dared think it at the risk of attracting the attention of misfortune--so far things had proceeded without a hitch. 

With so many wards on the door itself, they hadn’t bothered to place any spells just on the lock. It was a practical decision, thinking it wouldn’t matter--and it didn’t. Just not for the reasons they thought. Aster  _ could _ have dealt with security spells on the lock, but the Spider Key could only hold one shape at a time, and maintaining the suppression spell while picking the lock was extra effort he was just as happy to avoid. As it was, he already felt a twinge of thirst, the early reminder from his body that he had been using a fair amount of mana in a short period of time. Nothing too taxing, not yet, but he was still glad that he could handle the next step without magic.

Taking a knee in front of the lock, Aster pulled the bifold of musician’s tools out of his pocket and laid it out on the floor. It did indeed contain actual items for repairing his instruments: tuning pegs, hex wrenches, winding keys, files, gauges, clippers. However, mixed in with the legitimate were the illicit. The small pocket along the side of the bifold contained a full set of lockpicks, head-down so only the handles were visible and insignificant even to the most keen-eyed arrester among the other implements. 

_ It pays to be innocuous.  _

Selecting a few picks, he took one in his right hand, placed two in his mouth for easy access, and set the tensor wrench into the key cylinder with his left. He inserted the hook pick and gave a few exploratory taps. High-security pin tumblers. Swapping the hook pick into the corner of his mouth, he took the more versatile groove pick instead. Shutting out everything else, he closed his eyes--even though it gave no heat, he could still feel the light of the  _ oraculous _ on his skin, steadying--and then it was down to the work of it. 

At first, when Fera had compared lockpicking to playing an instrument, Aster had assumed she was just teasing, but now that he was comfortably adept at both it was hard not to see the similarities. Working on an unfamiliar lock was much like practicing a new song, testing the notes, feeling out the texture of it, looking for patterns from past experience. He explored the inner workings of the lock, sensing for minute changes as he carefully manipulated the tumblers, like the subtle shifts in vibration on finely tuned strings. Resistance here, giving way to a turn, a fractional push, there the slightest click of a pin moving into place, little by little by touch and sound and skill and instinct.

He lost track of time as he submerged himself into the process, so that it was almost a surprise when, after two minutes or twenty, the final tumbler fell into place with a soft metallic beat. Aster opened his eyes. Quickly tucking his picks away in the bifold, he gave the door a gentle, almost tentative push. 

It swung open easily on well-oiled hinges, nearly as soundless as he was, onto a darkened cave of a room. 

Sending the  _ oraculous  _ ahead of him with a gesture, he walked through the shimmering square of the reflective barrier along the doorframe, and stepped inside. The rear and side walls were lined with file cabinets, even grid lines of metal drawers and small, neat handles faintly reflecting blue light. Each drawer had a small file card in a setting on its face indicating the range of files contained within-- _ thank you, Azorius.  _ Levitating the glowing orb in a sweep of the room, he quickly found the drawer labeled B.800━B.850, along the back row and third from the bottom. There was a circular key cylinder glinting in the top center of the drawer, unwarded; Aster opened his bifold with a small snort of derision and without looking, fished out a long rake pick. It took less than a minute of practiced raking to break into the simple cabinet lock, and he allowed himself a moment of self-satisfaction as he pulled the drawer open. A long row of files revealed themselves, all neatly arranged and collated in labeled folders. Walking his fingers over the little tabs, he counted his way to the back.

_ B.844, B.845, B.846… _

There it was. He slid the folder loose and opened it across the others, the sides falling past the edge of the drawer like the open wings of a bird. It was actually a rather small file, but the papers it did contain were detailed--at a glance, Aster saw dense pages of personal statements amended by notes and comments in recognizably Azorius handwriting, an in-depth timeline of someone’s activities over the course of a day, a set of sketches. Some of the sketches were what looked like heavily damaged suspended structures of an Izzet electrocapture facility, with specific details circled and numbered in thin, opaque red lines; the others were a rather gruesome set of images of a dead body, goblin he thought, but in a horrible state of being both swollen and blackened that made it hard to tell. He noticed from the facility sketch that the metal catwalk in the image had been not just broken, but seemingly  _ melted _ . 

His brows knit together. He generally tried not to guess at the motives of the Dimir upper echelons, which were inscrutable at best, but industrial malfunctions were not exactly an uncommon occurrence for the Izzet. He was surprised--and suspicious--that the House would go through all this skullduggery for what looked like an accident. Unable to contain his curiosity, Aster flipped to the front cover sheet, and was startled to see a name he recognized next to the header labelled “Victim”: Svarix Maree. It actually took him a moment to place it, because he wasn’t used to seeing her first name; when she was mentioned in the paper, it was almost always her last name prefaced by her title. 

_ Chamberlain _ Maree, second in command of the Izzet and personal speaker for the Firemind himself. 

At least until recently. 

Aster’s frown deepened. He’d heard she was dead, that she had died a few weeks ago when a storm overloaded part of the infrastructure at the Izzet facility she was at. The papers had all said it was an accident; the Izzet had kept it mostly quiet and internal, but based on the information that had been released, it had seemed nothing more than an unfortunate, embarrassing, but ultimately mundane technical failure. 

However, if the Dimir were getting involved, there was almost certainly something else going on...

Aster shook his head, forcing himself to stop. This was well above his pay grade. Whatever was going on involved a death in the most rarefied political strata on Ravnica, and regardless of how much this piqued his curiosity, no good ever came of prying into the overarching plans of the Dimir. Besides--there were more important issues at hand.

_ Remember what you’re doing here. You need to get your objective and get back downstairs. Whatever is going on with this, it doesn’t matter, not for you--Yenna does. Do your job so you can go back to her. _

The thought rang true, honed his attention back to the moment. Whatever high-level brinkmanship this was, it was ultimately just another day of guild madness, and he shouldn’t be letting it distract him. His concern right now was Yenna, and getting back to her without any problems.

Although he couldn’t resist making a mental note to quietly ask Vai Rayaz about this later. 

Resolute, he took a breath and pushed everything aside except his immediate task. Straightening the pages of the file into a neat stack, he reached into his boot and pulled out the sheaf of transcription paper, setting it on top of the reams of file folders in the open drawer. Grabbing the top magical sheet, he laid it over the front page of the report and gave it a tiny mental “tap” as the go-ahead. In an instant, the report’s cover sheet replicated itself onto the page, filling it out as if scribed by an instantaneous, invisible hand. He removed the completed transcription paper, grabbed another sheet and flipped to the next page of the report, and repeated the process. Little by little, the stack of transcribed papers grew as he worked his way through the file. He was thankful that it wasn’t extensive; the transcription was nearly instant, but it could become a tedious task when it needed to be done twenty or thirty or--on one mind-numbing occasion with a highly restricted book-- over a hundred times. As it was, the sheaf of remaining file documents quickly shrank away as if he were flipping pages of a book. Soon enough, he was watching the final sheet write itself onto the blank page. 

Setting the last transcription onto the completed pile, he flipped the leather folder shut and tucked it carefully back into place, pushing the file drawer shut--a quick rifle with one of the picks reset the small lock. Then he gathered up the magical copy of the file and gave it a sharp tap against the cabinet to align the sheets. Holding the neat bundle of papers in one hand, he reached into his pocket until he felt the small, cool bauble of metal and stone. He withdrew the earring and spoke a few quick syllables, stripping off a layer of magical concealment like peeling an orange. Suddenly, the silver and labradorite went from soft greys to a flash of blue spellwork under the  _ oraculous.  _

He’d gotten a containment spell set into the earring during his visit to the Axis; it wasn’t a form of magic he performed much, and Dimir artificers were much better able to mask their work than he was. Before deactivating the charm a moment ago, even a magically skilled arrester would have been hard-pressed to detect that the earring was anything other than ordinary jewelry. Tides, even he could barely feel it, and he had the advantage of knowing exactly what to look for. The concealment charm was a good one--and as soon as he’d deployed the containment spell hidden underneath, he could pull the magical camouflage back over the whole thing and it would return to being unremarkable.

Holding the artificed earring between his thumb and ring finger, he drew it across the transcription paper in a few simple, brightly-lit strokes, tracing out the activation rune. Then he placed the earring in the center of the symbol to complete the trigger. As he set it in place he felt a slight tug, like the attraction of a magnet, and he withdrew his hand only for the earring to stand upright on its own. Giving a small shudder, it began to vibrate with a quiet, rapid clicking like someone thumbing through a deck of cards. Then, with a miniature dust storm of evaporating mana motes, eight aetherform legs sprang out of the labradorite cabochon. The legs--like a harvestman spider’s, far too long and spindly to have fit into the gem--made an almost inaudible tapping as they skittered across the parchment, lifting the earring like a tiny stone and silver body as the artifice device oriented itself. Then, turning back and forth, it halted abruptly as it found the right position and stretched its legs out to the edges of the paper. 

A pulse of magic ran down each of the elongated legs like lightning down a conduction rod. Where the tiny bolts of mana touched the paper, worms of energy smoldered coldly along the fringe; the paper began to crumple and contract as if placed in a fire. But instead of charring into ash, the paper simply folded itself smaller and smaller, decreasing ever further in size as the aetherform spider drew it together more tightly. Soon the entire file was the size of a handball, then the size of a plum, then a marble. Finally, it was no larger than a pea. Curling over themselves, the legs of the containment spell wrapped around the shrunken orb like twine wrapping around a spool, until they encircled it so tightly that, with a little burst of mana light, they melded into it completely. Aster blinked away the slight spots from his eyes. The tiny spherule comprising file B.847 had absorbed the mana from the spell and transformed itself into what looked like a plain blue bead, of lapis lazuli perhaps, hanging from the earring as a pendant. It would stay that way until someone triggered the release command, at which point the sheaf of papers would expand back to normal, as pristine and unwrinkled as if he’d taken them out in a folio. 

And in the meantime, he didn’t have to try to hide an entire case file’s worth of papers.

He dropped the earring back in his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, murmuring the words of a simple spell to remove magical traces of his presence as well as physical as he quickly wiped down the cabinet face. Inside he felt a rush of relief. Objective acquired, no issues, no alarms--everything had gone off without a hitch. He just had to relock a few locks and deactivate the reflective barrier on the way out, the work of a mere moment, avoid a few guards, and he was home free. Sending the  _ oraculous _ toward the record room door, he turned to leave. 

_ Just a few bits of cleanup, and I can get back to-- _

Aster looked up as the  _ oraculous _ drifted through the doorway and into the office proper, and stopped dead in his tracks.

Yenna.

She stood there in the hallway, bathed in the perfect liminal blue light, beautiful, motionless, silent. Staring, wide-eyed, at him. Aster stared back, frozen to the spot like the petrified victim of a gorgon’s gaze. For a second, his mind stopped and the only thing in his head was just…

_ No. _

Then other things began rushing in.  _ This can’t be real,  _ he thought.  _ How could she have gotten past the guards? How could she have even known I was here? She can’t be there; it can’t be like this. It can’t be real.  _

_ Please let this not be real. _

But in his heart, he knew with a sickening weight that his pleas didn’t matter. His throat clenching so tightly he felt he might suffocate, all he could do was look at her, looking at him, the sight of her nearly stilling his heart. Mind racing, he tried to think of what to say. 

_ How long have you been there?  _

_ This isn’t what it looks like? _

_ You don’t understand?  _

His thoughts tore through every possible response and rejected them all, every one of them certain to make it worse, every one of them wrong. Somewhere in the silence was the exact combination of words that could make this better. His mind flashed to that night weeks ago outside of The Fiddlehead, when he had held her and spoken to her and fixed what was broken. Then as now, there had to be an answer...had to be. Searching desperately, he plunged into himself as deep as he could go, like when he used to dive for abalone as a boy and stayed under until he thought his lungs would burst. And delving through his thoughts, he found something, a shape, a feeling, something that could bridge the expectant emptiness between them.

But whatever the words were to describe it, he didn’t know how to say them. 

And now, as when he was a child hunting beneath the waves, his time ran out. Before he could figure out the answer he needed, she spoke first--and as he felt the distance to her widen like an earthquake rift, the moment when he might have saved them sliding from his grasp.

“This is where you went.” Her voice was trembling.

He swallowed painfully hard, opening his throat enough to force out a hoarse whisper. “Please, let me explain.”

“Alright,” she said quietly. “Explain.”

It had never occurred to Aster that she might agree to listen. 

He stood there, dumbstruck, his mouth working on the unexpected task. “I…” he gestured helplessly at the open file room, “I was just...” Normally, he was excellent at coming up with excuses on the spot; he had done it with judges and generals and grand deacons. But something about the hurt in her eyes--still noticeably green even under the blue  _ oraculous-- _ bound his mind like a spell. Those eyes narrowed sharply, and he knew that his lame stumbling was the wrong start. 

“You were  _ just _ stealing.”

“I wasn’t stealing--I mean, not exactly; I didn’t take it away, I just made a copy,” he babbled.  _ Stupid stupid stupid shut up!  _ He knew how it sounded, weaselly and pedantic as if he really thought the fine particulars were the problem, but his idiot mouth just kept talking because the silence was too terrifying to take.

“Are you supposed to have that?” she retorted, pointing at his pocket. When he shook his head mutely under her accusation, she immediately followed up with, “Then it’s stealing. Why are you stealing from the Azorius?”

Aster took a breath, desperately trying to get his thoughts in place. “It’s the job my employers gave me to do,” he answered, struggling to be honest.

She turned her head, looking at him sidelong in the dark space. “The Dimir?” she asked.

The immediacy of instinct took over. “No,” he said with a sharp shake of his head. Dimir Rule One might have been don’t run, but Rule Zero was: if you are caught in a crime and picked up by the authorities, do not admit to being a member of House Dimir. And he knew this wasn’t an interrogation, knew in his heart that she just wanted to understand what was happening--but his mind felt otherwise, and the denial rushed out to protect him. 

A split-second after the word left his mouth, he saw Yenna’s face crumple. She turned away at a swift walk without another word, but not before he saw where her gaze had landed. He looked down at his hand in brain-locked confusion, and saw the Dimir Spider’s Eye etched just under the skin and kindled to visibility by the  _ oraculous  _ light _.  _

“Blackwaters,” he breathed stupidly.

Automatically he started to chase after her, but stopped with a curse when he remembered what he had been doing, and wasted what felt like endless crucial seconds turning the latch on the door back to locked and pulling it shut, deactivating the reflective mana barrier as quickly as he dared. He snuffed the  _ oraculous _ as he dashed after her, feeling the light background strain of focus lift from him and not caring, watching in horror as she yanked open the door, spilling a flood of light into the office and not making any attempt to check the hallway for guards before she blindly stepped out of the room. He rushed after her and reflexively checked in both directions--merciful tides, the corridor was empty--snatching the Spider Key from his boot with a deft kick and rapidly twisting it in the lock, feeling the slight quiver of power as the nightly security spells reignited, then smoothly tucking the key back out of sight. Only then did he look at Yenna.

She was staring at him, mouth slightly agape.”What are you? No, nevermind that,” she amended, a hand going to her temple as she winced in near-physical pain. “ _ Who _ are you? Do I even know?”

“Yes,” he insisted quickly. “Yenna, yes, of course you do-”

“Really? Do I?” 

Her fingers slipped over her mouth to cover it, but not in time to conceal the tugging at the corners as tears threatened. It was the same gesture she used to hide a giddy smile or try in vain to suppress a laugh, and seeing it now pierced him like a blade.

“Yes,” he managed.

“How long have you been lying to me?”

“I…” There was a lump in his throat, aching, he fought to push it back. “I never lied  _ about  _ you, about how I felt-”

“But you never told the truth about anything else.” Her voice was breaking, the sound sending jagged fractures through his chest. “You were still lying to me two minutes ago--how am I supposed to believe you now?” 

He blinked, trying to clear the heat that prickled at his eyes.“I don’t know.”

Suddenly, a little gasp caught in her throat. “That’s why you were acting so strange when I told you we had this billing--you were planning how to use it for…” She stopped, swallowed audibly to try to control her voice. “For this.” The idea was too much for her, and sent tears spilling from her eyes and falling in glimmering splashes onto the cedar skin of her chest. “You  _ used _ me. Aster--” She choked on his name, and the sound wrenched at him. “How could you do this?”

“I didn’t,” he said, shaking his head rapidly. “I didn’t, I swear. It was just a coincidence; I tried to keep you out of this, I promise on my father’s name.”

“And what does that mean to me?” Yenna said, breaking. “What does anything mean when I don’t know anything about you?”

“Yenna,” he whispered, barely getting the words out. “I’m sorry. The last thing I wanted was for you to get involved; I never meant to hurt you.”

“Then you shouldn’t have lied to me!” 

The words were sharp with anguish and bit ever deeper into his chest, the pain squeezing tears from his eyes.

“I didn’t want this,” he repeated, pained.

“But you did it anyway.” She shook her head, sending tears tumbling down freckled cheeks and off the edge of her jaw. “You said I could trust you, you promised me! And I did--I  _ trusted _ you. I  _ liked _ you. I lo-” She bit her lip as a stifled sob cut off her words. Watching her face, he saw her heart break. “...I thought you were my friend.”

“I  _ am _ your friend. Please, Yenna,” He was begging now; he didn’t care. “Believe me. Please.” He took a half pace forward, lifting his hand to reach across the space between them, to reach out to her.

She stepped backward. 

For the first time ever, she pulled away from him. 

And his heart was broken along with hers.

“I can’t,” she said down to the floor. “Not after this. I don’t know who you are, Aster--but friends don’t lie to each other this way.” She looked up at him with eyes filled with tears and grief, looked through him right to the core. “Whoever you are--you obviously don’t care that much about us. About me.”

Aster wanted to argue, to fight for this, to somehow get her to understand. He tried futilely to think of something, like a desperate child trying to cobble a wet sandcastle back into shape. In that moment it didn’t matter that he had no idea what to say, what to do; all that mattered was that he couldn’t let it end this way...

“Hey!” 

The voice came from behind him; Aster instinctively held his composure, but Yenna’s head snapped toward the call. He heard footsteps approaching, quicktime yet measured, crisp boots on the marble floor. The Azorius guard.

“You two aren’t supposed to be up here.” It was said with heavy suspicion; Aster didn’t even need to look to feel the woman shifting her weight, preparing to take action. He looked at Yenna, whose face was a tangled mess of emotions, watching the guard over his shoulder with her jaw clenched tight. 

_ This is it then. This is how it ends.  _

He had always known there was a possibility of one day getting caught and going to prison, and was obviously not a thought he cared for, but now that it was on him it just felt distant, flat. Seeing Yenna like this felt so much worse--he felt like he deserved prison for that. Letting his head fall forward, he closed his eyes in defeat.

_ They might as well take me away,  _ he thought abjectly.  _ It doesn’t matter now.  _ Waiting for the inevitable words to come, he prepared to surrender himself.

“I’m sorry ma’am,” Yenna said, sniffling. “We were just...having a personal conversation.” She swiped her eyes fiercely, and her face hardened as she continued. “But we’re all finished talking now.” 

Aster’s eyes snapped open, and he stared at her in shock. She glanced at him, a sharp, wounded look that was quickly yanked away, as if the eye contact pained her--but even in that brief moment, he realized what she was doing. She refused to look at him again, but he couldn’t help watching her in stunned silence as it hit him like a lash. 

_ She’s not going to turn me in.  _

“I see,” the guard said slowly from behind him, in a way that implied that she was indeed seeing quite a lot. “Well...I’m afraid you’ll have to go back downstairs. This area is off limits to guests.”

“That’s fine,” Yenna said, her voice tight. “I was just leaving.”

Before Aster could say anything, she turned away. As he watched her back go to him, his head filled up with disbelief, sorrow, panic, wonder, every emotion it seemed he could produce--and for the length of a breath, she seemed to pause as if she knew, as if giving him a final chance. 

“Please,” he said, so quietly it must have been only for himself. “Don’t go.”

Her ears flicked backward, and he thought he saw a little shudder run through her body. But then her hands clenched tightly at her side and then she was leaving him behind, if she had ever really stopped at all. He had no way to know if she even heard him or not. 

He desperately wanted to go after her, to plead with her and find some way to show her how sorry he was...but what would be the point? He’d already had his chance to explain, and all he’d done was make it worse; he’d seen the pain in her face as every wrong word just twisted the knife. The hideous ache inside his chest, his overwhelming desire to fix this, none of it made a difference, not five minutes ago and not now. This wasn’t like that evening at the Fiddlehead--this time, he’d finally screwed things up so badly that they could no longer be repaired. It was clear to him that even if he went after her, the only thing he was capable of was hurting her more.

So he let himself stand motionless as she walked away, even though every step chipped off a piece of his heart.

As he watched her move down the corridor to the stairs, he suddenly felt a sturdy hand on his shoulder, startling him. He looked back to see the forgotten Azorius guard, her stalwart face surprisingly compassionate as she joined him in watching Yenna vanish down the stairwell.

“Sorry about your girl,” she said, her voice low with genuine sympathy. “Seems like a shame.”

For a second, Aster had a wild, erratic vision of striking the tall woman, starting a fight with her, blowing the entire thing and getting himself arrested. It seemed like that should have been tonight’s end result, what was  _ supposed _ to happen. Yenna should have turned him in. She had no reason not to. He had gotten caught; he should have been arrested, deserved to get arrested, but instead he was going to get away with it. Because even after stumbling into all the lies, with everything between them brutally severed in a sickening instant of clarity and fumbling and failure--she was still willing to protect him. 

It felt wrong. Everything felt wrong. And in that moment, if he could have reversed things--if he could have changed it so that he failed the mission and went to prison, but Yenna still thought the best of him--he would have. But no amount of willingness on his part could undo the damage. 

All that remained was what might have been.

“Yeah,” he finally answered the guard, his voice ragged. “A shame.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have always thought it was a disappointment that we never really get to see the Dimir doing their thing...after all, who would want to watch a bunch of magical spies plan and execute a heist? Oh right, all of us, because that's awesome. I tried to do it justice.


	6. VI.    Decrescendo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yenna copes with the fallout.

Yenna forced down the tears as best she could as she reentered the ballroom. There were the same people she had left only a dozen minutes ago, flocking around the room in their evening finery, too bright under the suspended magelights, their laughter too loud. Wincing, she shut her ears to the worldsong, trying to lessen the noise against her senses. The swirl of colorful sound and impression and memory was too much for her now. And in the background, the sound of water gone still as glass under a moonless night, and a single guttering candle in a room filled with shadow and silence. A familiar signature gone quiet--she just couldn’t bear it. So she shoved the worldsong and every other sound and image out of her head, trying to empty it of stimulus and sadness as her feet numbly carried her back to the party.

Yenna no longer had any idea what she was doing here. She had only come back to the gathering because she didn’t know what else to do, and in the absence of knowledge part of her thought, disconnected, that maybe if she just acted like everything was normal it would  _ be _ normal.

It wasn’t though. Everything was wrong, and she couldn’t escape from it as it became a dragging, roaring vortex in her head. Aster was...what? A thief? A spy? She wasn’t certain. All she knew for sure was that he was a Dimir agent, and that he had lied to her from the beginning. How much he had lied was another question that was impossible to answer, eating at her like a parasite. Part of her wanted desperately to believe that she had imagined it all somehow, that any moment she would wake up in the parklands and this whole thing would be a bad dream, that she would tell Aster about it and they would laugh at what a ridiculous idea it was.

But ridiculous or not, it was true.

The earnest way he listened to her, the way he’d finally started to relax when she hugged him, the subtle, gentle way he smiled--she couldn’t trust any of it now. Everything they had done together, every experience they had shared, every word he had ever said, all of it was cast into doubt. She wanted to believe that the man she knew was a true, core self; that regardless of the particulars the person she had come to know and care for was real, and cared about her in return. Except now she doubted not only Aster but herself, her judgement. She couldn’t be sure if what she was feeling was real, or just what she wished was real...and with no way to know what was a lie and what was true, the weight of deception and broken trust had just become too much. It had buried her. 

A desperate part of her had hoped that he would come after her when she walked away--a part that wanted nothing more than to be won over, to have some way to believe him, some sign that he meant what he said. But he had let her walk away. So it was really over. The dark closed in around her, and there was no gleam of daylight to show the way back.

Sorrow overwhelming her to the point of numbness, Yenna tried to stay at the outskirts of the party, giving polite, noncommittal responses and forcing empty smiles as people moved in and out of her circle. But soon enough a woman dressed in the utterly smooth white robes and halo headdress of the Orzhov headed her way, the broad gold collar with its eight-pointed star glinting as the aristocrat made a deliberate line toward her.

_ Oh no…not more of this, not now. _

Choking down the ache in her throat, Yenna pasted on a smile with a great deal of effort and bowed politely as the woman reached her. “My Lady,” she murmured to the ground.

“Darling, I’m so glad I’ve found you,” she said effusively, thickly applying the affected accent of the Church’s upper class. “Your performance was simply marvelous, the most moving piece of the concert season to date!”

“Thank you, my Lady,” Yenna managed, deliberately shifting her face into what she hoped was the correct expression. “You are much too kind.”

The woman brushed her response aside with an elegant wave of her hand, thickly encrusted in gemstones and gold. “Nonsense, pet; don’t be modest. You’ve shown exceptional talent.” She clasped her hands, an exaggerated gesture of beseeching. “I must have the two of you for my Auditor’s Reception at summer’s end.”

Yenna’s stomach twisted, knotting on itself like an eel at the word ‘two’. “I’m not certain that will be possible…”

“Oh, you  _ must _ , I absolutely insist.” She looked around, peering over the crowd. “Where is your partner? I’d care to congratulate the young man as well; you two were quite commendable as a duet.”

Her breath coming faster even as she struggled to wrench it back under control, Yenna laced her fingers together in front of her, squeezing tightly to clamp down on the trembling and looking down at them as if they might do something improper. “I’m afraid...I believe he left for the evening, my Lady. Another engagement, I think-”

“Ah, there he is!”

Yenna’s eyes snapped up and followed the woman’s gaze. Aster was walking down from the landing of the grand stairs, flanked by two Azorius consuls. For a second she thought he had been caught and was being escorted in custody, filling her mouth with the bitter taste of fear. But then the details reached her--Aster was dressed in his performance finery again, as if he’d never left. Although she noted that he didn’t have his earring on...the one adorned with stolen documents, classified files that he was going to deliver to his Dimir handlers. The real reason he was here. 

As he descended the stairway he appeared to be deep in some mutual conversation with the two officials, who had been in the front row of the show. They weren’t arresters, and he clearly wasn’t being arrested; he was just mingling with them, an artist with his public. Feeling dizzy, Yenna found that she couldn’t look away. She watched him walk down the stairs, talking and socializing, and searched with all her heart for some shred of evidence that he was wounded the way she was--that he had at least told the truth about that. But as hard as she tried, she couldn’t see it. He was just there, acting as if nothing was wrong.

As if what had happened didn’t mean anything to him.

A hard fist clenched around her heart. “I’m sorry, but would you please excuse me?” she said to the Orzhov aristocrat, barely getting her voice above a whisper for fear that it would break under the strain. The woman turned back to Yenna, giving her a strange look.

“Are you quite alright, my dear?” she asked, concerned.

“No,” Yenna said, shaking her head and finding the movement tight, painful. “No, I’m afraid I haven’t been feeling well tonight. I…” She swallowed, her mouth filled with sharp sand. “I have to go.”

The woman said something in response, but Yenna didn’t hear her. She was already gone, moving with as much restraint as she could while fighting the desire to simply flee at full speed. She thought she heard someone call her name, but somehow, she couldn’t stop herself to check. The need to be alone was suddenly overpowering. She knew it was rude, undignified, but something inside her was cracking apart like river ice in spring, and she wasn’t sure what would happen when it broke--she just knew she didn’t want all these people to see it. 

Wending free from the crowd, she headed into the tangle of corridors leading backstage, into the relative cool and quiet and dark. The hallways here were nearly empty, and the few organizers let her pass without hindrance. By the time she turned the corner toward the dressing room, she was moving at a trot, her hooves calling up a cascade of echoes against the granite floor. When she reached the room, she practically threw herself inside, shutting the door behind her and sagging against it. She let her cheek rest against the doorjamb, her skin aflame against the cool stone. For a moment she just stood there, forcing herself to breathe and pressing her eyes shut against the hot stinging trying to creep into the corners. 

There was finally silence around her, but inside her thoughts were a torrential roar. 

What was true?

Was  _ any _ of it true?

And how would she even know?

Aster was a very good liar, that much was clear--to the Azorius and obviously to her. Why shouldn’t he be? After all, that was his job. But that meant there was no way to be sure if he had been honest with her upstairs. He had said that he cared about her, that he hadn’t been using her, that he didn’t want her to be hurt. His face, his voice, everything had seemed  _ so _ heartfelt…

But was it sincerity, or just a very convincing imitation? In her heart, she felt it was real. But then, she  _ wanted _ it to be real, more than anything, and seeing what she wanted had gotten her into this mess. It was clear now what a naive little girl she was, and how foolish she had been, letting herself be led around by the nose. Letting herself believe that he felt for her the way she felt for him.

She squeezed her eyes shut tight, clenching her teeth against a sob.

She couldn’t trust herself.

Which meant she had no way to know if she could trust Aster.

And with no way to know what was real, there was no way forward.

Something inside her broke into shards, tiny pieces that flaked and fell away from an eroding whole as she went over to her shamisen case. She pulled a piece of sheet music out of the pocket on the back and set it on the table, looking for something to write with. A small charcoal pencil lay on one corner; it would do. She turned back to the paper, and only then saw the title above the even grand staves of music:  _ Lament of Rain.  _ Both of their names were underneath the title in her neat, fluid script. Unable to stop herself, she thought of all the time the two of them had spent together, writing and composing and practicing, of how it had felt to be on stage performing with him. It was nearly enough to break her resolve and send her running back out to find him. All of that couldn’t have been a fabrication on his part or imagination on hers, it couldn’t have. They had been so close, so attuned to each other… Everything between them had certainly felt real then, strong; looking back on it even now with what she had learned, it still did. Surely that intensity couldn’t be faked,  _ must _ be real.

Right?

_ But you aren’t sure, are you?  _ The voice inside her was patronizing, speaking to her as if she was a silly child struggling to learn a simple lesson. _ Oh, you think so, you want it to be so, but are you sure? After what happened--seeing how wrong you’ve been all along--can you  _ ever _ be sure? _

There was a soft splashing as a few hot drops snuck down her cheeks and splattered on the paper; she swiped fiercely at her eyes. As much as it hurt, Yenna didn’t know what else she could do. She bit her lip to force the rest of the tears down and picked up the charcoal. For a moment she felt she ought to find a different piece of paper to leave a note, but on second thought decided it felt right this way. If Aster was telling the truth, if he had ever really cared for her at all, at least he would have something.

Even if it was this.

In the end, her note was minimal and short. She wished she could have thought of something better, but every time she tried to find the words for what she felt, sorrow welled in her throat to choke her and her heart felt like it was being milled down to ragged scraps against a grindstone. What she wrote was all she could manage. She folded the sheet carefully and carried it over to his music case. When she opened the case her fingers brushed Aster’s gudalka, shooting a pang through her that was so sharp that a small, pained noise actually slipped past her lips. Nevertheless, she gently placed the note between the strings and body of the instrument, where he would be sure to see it, and closed the case. Then she left the room, moved down the quiet back corridors, and walked alone into the city night.

It was a surprisingly clear night, with only a few slate-grey clouds drifting among the stars. Their soft contours were edged in the warm, rose-gold light of the moon Haeja, hanging full in the sky like a peach; the powder-blue crescent of Vereg was even visible toward the far eastern horizon. The two moons were rarely visible at once, an event made even rarer by Ravnica’s regular rains, and usually reserved for still summer nights like these. 

Yenna didn’t notice. She didn’t even see where she was going, nearly bumping into several pedestrians who were out for the evening and barely remembering to murmur an apology. Small crowds of people were still walking the streets, enjoying the many taverns and shops that were still open, taking advantage of the security of the nearby Azorius guildhall to offer their wares well into the night. Despite the lively nightlife, she was entirely alone inside herself. Numbly, she let her feet carry her where they would. 

In her wounded state, she instinctively angled toward the nearest haven of green and found herself walking through the wooded terrain of the parklands. The grass was soft under her, muffling her footfalls, and as she moved deeper the viburnum and almond and lilac wrapped around her like a protective curtain. The night air was still warm from the day, and heavy with the smell of flowers. She knew it should have been comforting, but despite the gentle moonlight through the leaves and the familiar brush of growing things against her as she walked through the underbrush, Yenna didn’t feel any better. She hurt the way she had when she had run away into the forest when she was a child, a feeling of trapped panic and despair and being more lost inside than out. Her chest felt as though it was bursting and being cruelly squeezed at the same time, and the sound of her own breathing was ragged and much too fast, as if she had run here across the precinct.

And despite struggling against it, she couldn’t stop thinking. 

She wished she could go back and undo what happened.

She wished she could do it over and just stay in the ballroom.

She wished she could go back to not knowing, to hearing Aster’s voice and feeling that little surge of happiness and warmth, to enjoying the security of being close to him, to taking joy in the way his face brightened when he smiled.She wished she could go back to being the way they were together.

A happy lie was still a lie, yes--but it was also still happy.

She found that she had stopped walking, coming to a halt beneath the trailing canopy of a willow tree. She suddenly thought of the Fiddlehead, of Aster holding her under a leafy curtain and pressing her close, his whispered words reassuring in her ear. 

_ “I’m not going to hurt you.” _

And she had known without a doubt that they were true.

With a loud, raw noise, a sob leapt out of her throat. Then another, and another. Helpless to stop them, all she could do was press her hands tight over her mouth, doing her best to muffle the sound as her chest heaved and her entire body was wracked by fierce waves of sorrow. Tears poured burning from her eyes like poison, coated her hands, seeped in and tinted her mouth with salt as her legs turned to water. Sagging down to her knees, she folded into a broken bundle between two twisted willow roots, her upper body pressing against the rough bark as if the trunk was the only thing holding her together.

_ I wish Aster was here. _

The thought crept in, and Yenna wept as if her heart would never beat again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sad centaur is sad. :-(


	7. VII. Fade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aster struggles to deal with the mess things became, and the inescapable feeling that there is no one to blame but himself. Fortunately, he is not alone.

Aster sat alone on the roof of the Fiddlehead. He didn’t see the pinkish-gold moon glimmering through the branches of the massive old willow, didn’t notice the boisterous crowd noise from down below or the smell of sweat and ale and fried dough with warm sugar that filled the summer night. There was far too much happening inside to pay attention to what was going on outside. 

Too many things to think about now that it was too late to matter.

Aster thought about what might have happened if he had trusted Yenna with the truth from the beginning. She had held her silence when she could have rightfully handed him over--and if she’d protected him when put on the spot under terrible circumstances, what would she have done if he’d just told her? He’d assumed that she would want nothing more to do with him, at best. Yesterday, that had felt like an unconscionable risk and lying had been the lesser of two evils. He could mislead and obfuscate for as long as he needed, knowing absolutely that she would believe him...so why take the chance of ruining everything? 

Now with the clarity of hindsight, it was obvious that lying had transmuted that chance into certainty. He’d known it was the wrong thing to do all along, of course: gotten the twinge of discomfort in his stomach every time he told her something that wasn’t true or slipped around something that was, sensed the tension of keeping himself separate from her every time they were together during a quiet moment, and most of all felt the regular, resounding guilt of being an incredible bastard. It didn’t matter that this was what he had always done with partners outside the Dimir. This time was different,  _ she  _ was different, and he knew it, but he had chosen to treat it the same old way.

His conscience had been telling him the entire time, stridently and repeatedly, that he had taken a wrong turn, gone down a path completely choked with bracken and thorns and brick-dense undergrowth. But his brain had insisted, been adamant that this wasn’t just the right way but the only way. The smart choice. So he had gone plunging deeper and deeper into the tangle, even when it dragged at him and cut him and felt deeply and unwaveringly  _ wrong-- _ telling himself the whole time that surely just ahead it would end or open up or finally show some light and a place to breathe. Rather than just turning around. Rather than giving her enough credit to truly consider the possibility that she could be trusted.

And now his distrust had lost her for good.

He idly rotated the bottle in his hand, the base making a soft grinding noise against the shingles while he turned the square cross-section neck in his palm, twisting it in little circles. Vodka clung to the glass walls as the bottle spun, clear liquid sliding in shallow sheets along the tilting container. The liquor was only just below where the neck widened into the body of the bottle proper; there was plenty left. For now. Aster didn’t really drink, but he was sure he could pick up the pace if he put his mind to it. 

He raised the bottle and took a vaporous, burning drink. It seared him all the way from his mouth down to his stomach as he swallowed. He didn’t care for the taste--on the few occasions he’d consumed straight liquor, it had always tasted like Izzet cog-cleaning solutions smelled--but it did its job. He felt heat seeping through his core suffusing his limbs with tingling numbness. His mouth tasted acrid, but at the moment that was an easy price to pay. If anything, he wished it would hurry up and take hold of his mind; it would be a blessing if he could fill his thoughts with the same blurred heaviness that slowly moved through his body, bury them under a layer of unfeeling inebriation.

Of course, he did have a second option. In his left hand, he flipped a small white cylinder forward and back across his fingers, sending it on a steady rotation of cartwheels over his knuckles. At first glance it looked like a regular djag, but the protruding ends of thin, blueish-grey dried stems and the distinct pine smell said otherwise. He’d picked it up in a spur-of-the-moment decision from one of the bartenders downstairs, a pretty, black-haired elven woman with blue eyes and lips painted the color of wine. She’d sold him the vodka, an overpriced top-shelf bottle, and then offered to upsell him the little rolled makstav smoke as well. He’d intended to say no, of course; he’d seen what makstav did, seen his dad struggle with lapses into the stuff off and on for his entire life. Tides, it had probably been a factor in the fishing accident that killed him. Aster had always given it a wide berth despite easy availability in performance circles, and of course he wasn’t going to pick any up tonight.

Except he had, though he didn’t even remember making the decision to do so. 

The elven woman had smiled at him, leaned in and brazenly tucked the smoke behind his ear while accidentally-on-purpose brushing the sensitive points with her fingers, and said suggestively that he should come find her at the end of her shift. Her blue eyes had a slight glassiness to them that said she’d already been making use of her own supply, and was clearly looking for a partner to indulge her high with. 

He had zero plans to take her up on it; her sultry advance felt like offering an exotic meal to a person suffering from an ill stomach. But then, he hadn’t actually planned on picking up the makstav either. He still wasn’t sure why he’d done it. In fact, he wasn’t really sure what he was doing, period. There was nothing he wanted that anyone could give him, and now his brain was just flailing about trying to find something, anything, that could slot into that empty space. 

But of course there was no replacing what he’d lost. All he was doing now was seeking out something potent enough to make him forget anything was missing. For the moment, he’d just been working on his drink; sex was the furthest thing from his mind, and the makstav smoke was still wholly pale and unlit. For the moment. Although if diving into a criminally expensive liquor bottle didn’t ease the rabid bite of loss he felt in his chest, he was legitimately unsure what he might try next. It was a strange feeling. Aster always liked to have a plan, to have things mapped out ahead of time. It made him feel comfortable, in control--this just made him feel hopelessly adrift. Normally, the uncertainty would have driven him to course-correct as quickly as possible, to figure out what was going on and what he should be doing about it. But he knew exactly what was going on, and there was nothing he could do about it. In light of that, he found that he could barely bring himself to care.

When Yenna had caught him, the theft wasn’t what had laid her open to the bone. It was that he had lied to her. Of course it was. Taking the file was something he had done to the Azorius, but lying was something he had done to her. She had covered for his crime even though she clearly thought it was wrong, but she couldn’t forgive the lies. He didn’t blame her. He didn’t forgive himself either. He had taken advantage of her, of her good nature and of her trust in him--and what was worse, he was afraid he might have hurt her in a way she would never truly recover from, scarred her, irreparably changed her from the innocent person she was into someone jaded and cynical.

_ Now, who does that sound like? _

Aster had a sudden flash of Yenna’s face when she broke, the exact expression of a heart tearing in two. He had seen her  _ shatter _ . Wincing, he took another caustic pull from the bottle, a long one, feeling it sear down his throat and trying to drown the memory and hating himself. With his left hand, he absently tapped the makstav on the roof shingles. He’d already ruined everything.

What did it even matter what he did now?

“Hey there, kaer.”

He turned toward the sound of the voice to see Keski gently alighting on the roof from the springy overhanging willow bough she’d used to lower herself down. He hadn’t heard her approach, but that wasn’t a surprise--he had worked in the same crew with her for his first three years in the Dimir, and even when he had been paying close attention, her movements were often too quiet to hear. It was in stark contrast to the loudness of everything else about her. 

She was wearing her usual scandalously sparse outfit of clinging black leather, today accented with fluttering tassels of red silk ribbons and a diamond painted over one eye in black greasepaint. Under the warm moonlight, there was still a faint sheen of oil on her brick-red skin. Just in from a show then, and presumably now looking to entertain herself. 

Not something Aster wanted to be a part of.

“This isn’t a good night, Keski,” he said flatly. “I’m not in the mood for games.”

She stopped a few feet away from him, as steady on the canted roof as on a promenade, and pulled a face. “I’m not here to play games with you.”

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Isn’t that what you always do?” He turned away from her and took a swig of vodka, hissing through his teeth at the burn. “Play games?”

Her thin braids rustled as she shook her head. “Only when it’s funny. Whatever  _ this _ is,” she made a sweeping gesture at him, “it doesn’t seem that funny.”

“Are you kidding?” he said darkly. “It’s hilarious--clearly just one big fucking joke.”

Keski made a noncommittal noise, then walked over and smoothly folded herself into a sitting position next to him on the roof. Aster frowned at her, considered telling her more firmly that he wanted to be alone, but then decided the effort of shooing her off would be more hassle than it was worth. Soon enough she would see that he wasn’t going to be amusing company, and whatever she claimed, he suspected that a lack of diversion would send her looking elsewhere. Might as well just let her stay. 

He took another sip from the bottle, setting it down with a loud unintentional clunk as he misjudged the height of the roof next to him, tightening his grip reflexively to keep from dropping it. Keski watched him with copper eyes that reflected light like a cat’s, leaning slightly into his space.

“What?” he snapped.

She raised her hands defensively, warding him off. “Didn’t say anything--why would I? You seem like you’re doing just super great.”

“I  _ was _ ,” he muttered, sounding surly even to himself but not caring much.

She looked him up and down, then caught sight of his left hand. Her nose wrinkled as she gave a quick animalistic sniff, then frowned. “Is that makstav?”

“Is that a problem?” he retorted sharply. “Because I once saw you drink a vial of green slime homebrewed by a kraul living in a sewage pipe.”

“First of all, that guy was great and so was his stuff. Initially.” She shrugged. “Second of all, you’ll get no judgement from me, friendo. You’re your own man.” 

He narrowed his eyes a little, suspicious, then relented. “Well...good.” 

“You got it,” she said with a cheerful grin. “Since it’s going to be that kind of an evening, mind if I light that up, get things started?”

Aster had not been at all sure that he was actually going to smoke the thing, and felt something squeeze in his stomach at the idea of doing so.  _ You’re about to make things so much worse,  _ a surprisingly clear voice said in his head, the same voice that chastised him for lying to Yenna. Of course, he was already on a roll ignoring that voice and making truly great decisions--why stop now?

_ This is a bad idea,  _ it said, a last plea for reason.

“Be my guest,” he said out loud, handing the little rolled paper to Keski..

“Thanks,” she chirped. 

Leaping spryly to her feet like an uncoiling spring, she raised her arm and flicked it with an audible snap, sending it tumbling end over end past the edge of the roof and down into the reed-choked water three stories below.

Aster was on his feet, or at least crouched with one hand steadying him on the suddenly swaying rooftop while the other clutched the vodka bottle, partially upright and fully pissed off. “ _ Hey _ , what the--you jackass, what’d you do that for?!” he yelled.

Keski put a hand on his shoulder and shoved him back down onto the shingles with a grunt, surprisingly strong for such a small body. “I’m doing you a favor,” she shot back. “You’re not the type.”

Aster briefly made a second try at getting to his feet, but her grip was tight as an Orzhov’s coin purse, and the world was spinning very uncooperatively. So he settled for yelling up at her even though it felt uncomfortably like a small child having a tantrum at a parent. “Oh, where do you get off with this hypocritical bullshit?” he shouted, pulling ineffectively at her hand. “Who are you to tell me what  _ type _ I am?”

She gave him a final shove that sent him half-sprawling back onto the rooftop and put her hands on her hips. “If you were actually-truly this hardass makstavo you’re playing at, you’d have clawed my eyes out and gone over the roof after it. Demon’s tits Aster, you barely drink, you don’t smoke djags, and the only time I’ve seen you use ganja was on accident. You’re not this person.” She tapped her chest. “So I’m going to help you keep it that way.”

Aster snarled at her from the shingles. “Who the fuck said I wanted help? Or company? Who asked you to interfere--why are you even here?!”

Keski didn’t answer immediately, but tilted her head and examined him, the skin of her brow creasing beneath the dark chevron of her horns. “You’re crying.”

“Fuck off!” 

She stood for a long minute looking down at him--barely, since being seated still meant she was only a head taller than he was--and the longer he held her gaze the more he felt his combative glare losing power, anger turning into frustration and regret and sadness that were no less fierce, but had no one to oppose. No one but himself. 

“So what happened?” she finally asked.

The question was hardly somber, but he heard sympathy in it. Something in him cracked, shifted a fraction.

“I…” His words caught in his throat, and he dropped his eyes down to the shingles, which were suddenly blurring into edgeless smudges. Without warning, the shifting weight inside him gave way and collapsed on itself. “I had a bad night,” he managed to get out. 

As usual, there was almost no sound when Keski moved across the rooftop, so he didn’t hear her approach before she had her arms wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him into the smell of charcoal and sweat and sweet spices. Despite his protests about not wanting company--which he had been sure he meant earnestly a moment ago--he found himself not pushing her away, not even wanting to, really. Instead, he just went limp as all the fight drained out of him, pressed against her heat of sun-baked stone in high summer. It was an awkward position, and the settings of her sternum piercing dug into his cheek, but he didn’t hate it like he thought he would.

“Huh.” Keski also sounded mildly surprised. “You must have had a  _ really _ bad night--normally you’re stiffer than a Boros dress uniform on inspection day.” 

“I’ve been getting used to it, I guess,” he said quietly, his throat painful and raw. “Yenna was really...she liked hugs…” 

It felt like such a stupid thing to say, but his voice was suddenly locked up too tightly to say anything better. Unable to escape through words, the pain squeezed out through his eyes and trickled haltingly down his face.

“Uh-oh. I’m hearing past tense there.” She gave him a tight, full-body squeeze. Then she ran quick, hot fingers through his hair, mussing it, and released him. She plunked down on the rooftop next to him as he straightened his hair and wiped at his eyes, close up to him so that their knees rested against each other. “You wanna talk about it?” she asked after a moment.

Trying not to sniffle like a child, Aster fished in his pocket and silently handed her a carefully folded piece of sheet music. As she took it, he turned away and took another drink. He didn’t need to look as she unfolded it and read the note at the top. He already knew what it said:

I’m not going to tell anyone. 

I don’t think we should see each other again.

~ Yenna

The words may as well have been branded into him. 

Keski sucked air through her teeth. “Oof. That seems...really final. She catch you working?”

Not trusting himself to speak, Aster nodded.

“And I take it you couldn’t smooth things over?” she said, tapping the paper.

He shook his head despondently. 

She patted his knee. “Rough break, kaer. Sorry to hear it--I liked Yenna.” 

He narrowed his eyes at her. “The night you met, you spent the evening messing with her head,” he said sharply.

“I spent that evening messing with  _ Vai’s _ head,” she corrected. “I was trying to  _ help _ Yenna.”

“Is that what you call it?” he growled.

She shrugged. “Maybe my help is a little too spicy for some,” she acknowledged. “But I'm a people-person; I see someone in distress, I try my best to straighten them out.” The imp leaned in and bumped her shoulder against his in solidarity. “What can I say? I’m just friendly like that.”

He curled his lip at her for a moment, ready to rebuke her, but the argument he had been preparing evaporated in his mouth. Suddenly, it just didn’t feel worth it. Deflated, he slumped forward with his arms encircling his knees. “Sure. If you say so.” His gaze drifted up to the rose-gold moon, and he blinked rapidly as it became watery and unfocused. It was a losing effort. “It’s not like it makes a difference now anyway.”

Keski watched him, the copper reflection in her eyes banked down to low embers.

“Aww, it’s alright,” she said, not unkindly. She leaned her body against his side and wrapped a warm arm around him, small but strong. “At least you’re not up here alone anymore.”

Aster didn’t say anything--but as the colors out over the rooftop wavered and ran together, he accepted the imp’s arm over his shuddering back without protest.

They sat without talking for long minutes. Haeja floated upward in glowing fragments framed by willow branches like a stained glass window. Fireflies winked on and off in the dark as they flew in drunken loops among the trees. Down below, someone struck up the first chords of  _ Last Call in Prahv _ and immediately an entire room full of voices joined in. The muddled chorus drifted up into the trees like billowing smoke, effervescent, and punctuated by the high pulsing of cicadas.

Eventually, Aster felt able to speak again.

“How did you find me up here anyway?” he asked, wiping his eyes on the back of his arm. Then, before she could answer, he gave a self-deprecating snort. “Or is it just my day to get caught when I try to slope off?”

Keski winced theatrically. “Ouch. Way to beat me to the punch.”

He gave a grunt of acknowledgement and lifted the vodka to force down another scorching sip, but Keski reached across his body and snatched the bottle. He allowed it to happen, his fingers having become too clumsy to do anything about it. Besides, the alcohol was making him feel more uncomfortable than not at this point, and he was willing enough to part with it. Meanwhile, the small red woman tipped the bottle to her lips with a dramatic motion.

“Damn,” she said with an appreciative whistle through her teeth. “First of all,” she tapped the bottle with a jet-black nail, making an emphatic  _ tnk-tnk-tnk  _ against the glass, “booze this glossy is wasted on a lightweight like you.” 

“You’re welcome,” Aster said flatly, although secretly he was relieved to have Keski’s inane banter to take his mind off things. 

“Hey, nothing personal,” she assured him with a grin. “I’m just saying it deserves someone with a lush’s appreciation for quality liquor.”

“Good thing you were here, then.”

She clicked her tongue and gave him an exaggerated point-and-wink. “Actually-truly. Second of all…” Pausing, she held up a finger and took another long pull from the bottle, then another, and another, before leaning sharply away from him for a rough bout of coughing into her elbow. “Oh yeah, way too decent to fritter away on sad drinking,” she managed between spirited coughing fits.

“Second of all,” Aster prompted, trying to steer the conversation back on track.

“Right right. Second of all,” Keski picked back up, “I found you because I got a tip off.”

“Tip off?” He frowned. Even mildly drunk, he was fairly certain he’d have remembered telling someone his intentions--which would have been difficult, since he didn’t seem to know what they were himself. “From who? And  _ why _ ?”

“Generally to keep you company and stall for time,” she said cheerfully, addressing the second question first.

“Stall for…Keski, who sent you here?”

“Ah-ah-ah, not yet,” she said insistently.

“Stop messing around.”

“Shhh,” she whispered, placing her finger on his lips. He swatted it away immediately and irritably.

“ _ Keski-- _ ” 

At that moment, a fresh wave of sound from the Fiddlehead was unleashed over the roof. Turning, Aster saw the trapdoor-style hatch tilt open, spilling light and sound and hot, crowded air into the night as blue-skinned hand pushed it upward. The hand was followed by its owner as Vai Rayaz extricated himself from the lower room and up through the square portal, his long limbs folding themselves like the legs of a heron as he carefully avoided entanglement in the hanging blue-and-red tails of his guild coat. He stepped out onto the roof, holding the hatch, and reached down to assist someone behind him. A moment later, Feralina’s head popped into view, looking so normal she was nearly unrecognizable. She was wearing a dress that was little more than a very long tunic, which was belted at the waist and had abandoned the pretense of being any color other than “faded”; her hair was still damp from washing and thrown into a slapdash knot, and whatever makeup she might have been wearing had been scrubbed clean. Taking Vai Rayaz’s hand to steady herself, she clambered topside to join him and let the hatch fall closed, silencing the din from below as both of them made their way over toward Aster and Keski. 

Keski threw up her hands in mock disgust. “You guys missed your entrance!” she called out to them, waving the liquor bottle like a chastising finger. “If you had come up here thirty seconds ago, it would have been priceless!”

“Real life is not a stage show,” Vai Rayaz said with characteristic reserve as he offered Feralina his arm--undecorated or not, she was still wearing her typical heeled shoes, which added height but did little to help her navigate the slope of the roof. 

“Not with that attitude it isn’t,” the imp said, sloshing the bottle at him for emphasis.

“We’re here now,” Feralina said, with just a touch of maternal firmness to signal the end of this line of sniping. It was only slightly undone when she faltered a little and had to lean on Vai Rayaz for balance. For his part, the vedalken supported the smaller human woman as if he were escorting her to a grand ball, with the physical precision of someone used to traversing catwalks an arm’s length from thunderous steam turbines and crackling aether-flux condensers. And he resisted the urge to respond to Keski--although Aster noticed he couldn’t resist giving the imp a meaningful raise of his brows.

Rolling her eyes, Keski turned and half-crawled over Aster to make a place for the fresh arrivals, with what he assumed was deliberate awkwardness; he noticed that despite jostling against him like a boisterous sibling, the vodka in her hand never so much as sloshed. After shoving her way over and past him, she settled onto his right side to allow space on his left, which Feralina dropped into, looking as grateful to see him as she was to have made it across the roof. Vai Rayaz smoothly settled himself onto the shingles in front of Aster and the two women. Before Aster could say anything, Feralina pulled him into a hug that smelled like clothing that could use a wash over top of clean skin and hyacinth-scented soap, and pressed him as tightly as a wringer. 

“Hi, Fera,” was all he could think to say.

She moved him roughly away from her and grabbed his shoulders. “Don’t you ‘Hi Fera’ me,  _ badra _ ; you scared me half into the grave! You cancel our exchange meeting for tomorrow and make the drop-off at an Axis instead, hours ahead of time, no explanation, no nothing?” She shook him for emphasis. “I thought something had gone really wrong, that you were about to end up in prison or worse; you’re lucky I don’t strangle you like a feast-day chicken!”

Aster opened his mouth to protest, then thought back on the evening. He had left the Banquet earlier than intended--after Yenna had gone backstage, he had excused himself as soon as he could without arousing suspicion and gone after her, hoping against everything to find her there. But he had only found the note. And then...well, after that his brain had sort of turned off. He had gone out and made some excuses to a few people he’d been speaking to, people who might notice his absence, and taken his leave. The plan had been to hand the file over to Feralina the next afternoon, but he hadn’t wanted to see her, or anyone he knew. He’d just wanted to be rid of the damned thing. So he’d dropped the file at the Axis along with his mission supplies, and had a bare-minimum message sent out to cancel tomorrow’s meeting. All he wanted to do was be done with the night and slink away to wallow in misery by himself.

In retrospect, he saw where his actions might look a little worrying from the outside.

“Sorry,” he said guiltily. “I didn’t mean to...I wasn’t thinking.”

Feralina forcibly dragged him back into another fierce hug. “Obviously. Idiot.” She gave him a hard squeeze--it was the kind of half-painful hold his mother had given him when he’d nearly drowned doing something stupid and his dad had brought him home dripping and bedraggled, an embrace of equal parts anger and relief. He eventually managed to get loose from Fera with the aid of a few more apologies.

“So what, you called in the legion here?” he asked, gesturing to Vai Rayaz and Keski. 

“I asked around,” Feralina answered, smoothing her worn, dishwater-colored tunic as if it might somehow be improved by the process.

“It seemed prudent,” Vai Rayaz added. “It’s not like you to be unconscientious without a reason; we were concerned.”

“I let them know when I heard you were here,” Keski said, clearly pleased with herself. “And the roof is the only place in the house you can go if you’re trying to run away from something, so I figured that’s where I’d find you.” She gestured expansively with the vodka bottle, taking in the four of them and grinning. “So here we all are.”

“Indeed,” Vai Rayaz said, plucking the bottle from Keski’s hands with long, certain fingers and taking a sip despite her perfunctory protests. “I’m glad Keski was able to find you.” Aster raised his eyebrows--he knew that statement couldn’t have come naturally to the vedalken--but Vai Rayaz just looked back at him placidly. “So what happened?”

Aster looked away and bit his lip, preparing to try once again to explain and wondering if he would be able to get the words out this time. But before he could start, Keski stepped in. 

“Here,” she said, handing Vai Rayaz the note. The blue-skinned man took it and glanced at Aster, who gave a nod of permission. Keski turned to Aster and mouthed a quick ‘ _ You’re welcome _ ’ as the vedalken started reading--and honestly, presumptuous or not, he was actually glad that he’d been relieved of the burden of explaining things. He still wasn’t sure he could say it out loud.

Vai Rayaz quickly finished the short note, then gave Aster a sympathetic look as he handed it to Feralina. Feralina’s eyes moved quickly over the page, then her face fell. “Oh, Aster,” she said quietly. “I’m so sorry,  _ cholino _ . I know she really meant something to you.”

He nodded. “Yeah,” he managed, his voice tight and quiet. “She did.”

He reached out and took the note back. It was half folded, but he could just see Yenna’s handwriting behind the overlapping page, her name written in her own soft script. He found himself breathing harder. He lifted his other hand, and with a gesture and a sibilant whisper, a tongue of blue fire coiled to life in his open palm with a cool, surprisingly fluid noise. Slowly he brought his hands together, moving the flame closer to the sheet of paper. From the corners of his eyes, he saw the others watching; Feralina looked like she might be about to protest, but ultimately all three held their silence. Whatever he did, it was his choice. He brought the paper over the undulating fire, casting dancing blue light over the neatly inked processions of notes, then touching off spots of dark char that grew and began sinking into rings of orange embers spreading hungrily across the page, little teeth of mundane gold flames joining his blue mage fire as the paper began to burn-

With a noise expressing some inexplicable emotion, he yanked the paper back, waving it vigorously to wipe out the flames. For a second he panicked as he saw that the fanning only spread the devouring scorch-line faster; but Keski reached over, snatched the page, and pressed the flat of her palm firmly onto the smoldering patches. While not immune to fire, imps were very resistant to burning, and she was apparently unharmed as she smothered the last embers with her bare hand.

He offered mumbled thanks as he took the soot-smeared paper back. He looked at it, clenching it tighter between his fingers until it crinkled with a noise like dry leaves and his knuckles turned white. The edges trembled a little. Then with a hard sigh, he dropped his head and resignedly folded the note back into Yenna’s original creases, producing a neat little square that he gently returned to his pocket.

“Couldn’t do it,” he said regretfully, looking at his hands and watching the minute shiver in the fingertips. He saw Feralina’s hand reach into his field of vision, nails still painted in a delicate ombre of cream and robin’s egg blue, and twine her fingers firmly through his in quiet reassurance.

“It’s perfectly alright,” Vai Rayaz said, then cleared his throat. “After all, you humans are a sensitive species.” Aster looked up at him, startled at the uncharacteristic bluntness, and saw the vedalken giving him a small smile. Aster gave a wan smile in return.

“Was that supposed to be a joke?” he asked mildly.

“An attempt, yes,” Vai Rayaz said, giving Aster a reassuring pat on the knee.

“Amateur,” Keski snorted, but Aster didn’t miss her giving Vai Rayaz an expression of approval for the effort.

“Give yourself whatever time you need, baby,” Feralina said. “In the meantime, why don’t you come stay at my place for a couple days?”

Aster shook his head. “I couldn’t intrude on you like that.”

“It’s not a request,” she said matter-of-factly, then gave his hand a warm squeeze. “Or an intrusion. I’ll make up the couch for you.”

Despite the ache in his heart, he gave a low chuckle. “Your couch smells like dirty laundry,” he teased weakly.

She smiled. “And you reek like vodka,” she replied without malice.

“Perfect!” Keski said with a clap of her hands.

The four of them went quiet. He sat with Vai Rayaz unfolded on the shingles in front of him and Feralina holding his hand, with Keski leaned up against his shoulder, heating his right side disproportionately. They watched as Haeja crept higher and finally broke out of the crest of the trees, spilling bright moonlight over the roof.

“Not to distress you,” Vai Rayaz asked after a while, “but are you sure she won’t say anything?” 

He didn’t have to say who  _ she _ was. Feralina glared at the vedalken slightly while Keski blew a raspberry and capped it with a suitably withering “Slag and char, Vai.”

Aster waved them off. “He’s just being practical,” he said in the vedalken’s defense. “And yeah, I’m sure. I don’t think Yenna knows how to break her word. I wish...I wish I hadn’t…” He stopped, taking a few deep breaths, and Feralina put an arm around him.

“It was a bad scene,  _ cholino _ ,” she said gently. “You did the best you could.”

“Wasn’t good enough though,” he said, shaking his head and forcing down the tightness threatening to rise back up in his throat. “And now I’m never going to see her again.” 

“I know it hurts,” Feralina said, “but we’re here. We’ll help get you through.”

Aster wished he could say thank you, but he didn’t quite trust himself to speak. He just nodded, and hoped it would be understood. The thought of Yenna was clawing at his chest, threatening to surge back up, but Keski nudged up against him hard enough to jar him out of his downward slide.

“Hey. It’s going to be alright,” Keski said, her voice bordering on cheery. “And who’s to say you two might not see each other again? It’s a big city, and you never know--you know?”

“Yeah,” Aster said, “you never know.” 

He didn’t honestly feel it, but he said it anyway. After all, it really was a big city. 

Who knew what might happen?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, it's a sad ending. But don't worry--this isn't the end of Enya and Aster. In fact, it's only the beginning!

**Author's Note:**

> What can I say? I love romance, I love angst, and the Dimir are awesome. Also, this story has some of my favorite side characters that I've ever written.
> 
> Hope you like it!


End file.
